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THE    LAW    OF    LIFE 


THE  LAW  OF  LIFE 


BY 


ANNA    McCLURE   SHOLL 


D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 
NEW   YORK MCMIII 


COPTKIGHT,   1903,  BY 

D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


h&nki  iy»w.v*»—  «»t.rHU*i 


Published,  August,  1903 


Go 
MY    PARENTS 


513688 


CONTENTS 

BOOK   FIRST— THE   GIRL 

CHAPTER 

I.— Ave!  alma  mater    . 

II. — A    NEW    WORLD     . 

III. — "Under  an  academic  star" 
IV. — The  Emperor    . 
V. — The  world  of  youth 

VI. — "A   STATESMAN   AND  A  SCHOLAR" 

VII—  Two  houses 

VIII. — A   TURN   OF  THE   ROAD 

IX.— A    RIVAL  OF    MATHEMATICS 
X. — THE    NAPOLEONIC   FLOWER 

XL — An  interlude   . 


BOOK  SECOND— THE  WIFE 

XII.— A    FOUNDATION-STONE 

XIIL— The  bride 
XIV.— "Athena" 

XV. — A  PROSPECTIVE  DINNER 
XVI. — A  GLIMPSE  INTO  A  KINGDOM 

XVII. — Intuitions 
XVIIL— The  call  of  the  child   . 
XIX.— At  the  end  of  the  term 

XX. — TWO    PLANETS      . 


PAGE 
1 

10 
22 
30 
40 
50 
58 
73 
87 
99 
104 


119 
131 
142 
152 
165 
173 
186 
190 
198 


BOOK  THIRD— THE   WOMAN 

XXL— Into  Waring's  care       .        .        .        .        .  205 

XXI L—  Perdita 214 

XXIII.— A  RETURN  TO  YOUTH 223 

XXIV.— The  importance  of  being  worldly        .        .  235 

XXV.— "Your  soul  was  dancing"      ....  244 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXVI.— Dr.  Penfold  rises  to  the  occasion       .        .  252 

XXVII. — The  revelation  of  pain 258 

XXVIII.— "He  that  seeks  to  save  his  life  shall 

lose  it" 268 

XXIX.- Springtide 277 

XXX.— In  conflict 286 

XXXI. — "Did  you  wish  me  to  be  happy?"  .        .        .  300 

XXXII.— Two  letters   • 312 

XXXIII. — "The  loneliness  of  stately  ways"      .        .  324 

XXXIV. — "The  protection  of  joy"        ....  334 

XXXV.— In  exile 345 

XXXVI.— Two  lovers 352 

BOOK  FOURTH— THE  LAW  OF  LIFE 

XXXVII.— Perdita  intervenes 359 

XXXVIII.— The  judgment  of  truth         .        .        .        .371 

XXXIX. — An  enterprise  of  wooing       .        .        .        .381 

XL. — "The  outrageous  John  Rebbor"   .        .        .  387 

XLI. — The  negation  of  the  will-to-be  .        .        .  399 

XLIL— The  order  of  friendship        ....  407 

XLIII.— In  the  winter  woods      .        .        .        .        .421 

XLI V.— 'The  life- warrant 431 

XLV.— The  challenge                7  445 

XLVI.-An  appeal 458 

XLVIL— The  reprieve 465 

XLVIII.—The  crucifix 469 

XLIX.— Husband  and  wife 482 

L.— The  crisis 492 

LI.— "Among  the  innumerable  unwilling"        .  514 

LIL— "A  hero's  role!" 524 

LIII. — "Ave  Roma  immortalis!"      .        .        .        .538 

LIV. — The  face  of  exile 544 

LV.— Other  lives 553 

LVI. — A  dissolving  world 562 

LVIL— The  law  of  life 567 


BOOK   FIRST 


THE  GIRL. 


THE  LAW  OF  LIFE 


CHAPTER   I. 

ave!  alma  mater. 

Hallworth  University,  endowed  and  erected  for 
the  higher  education  of  young  men  and  women  by  a 
self-made  American  citizen,  was  opening  its  doors  to  a 
large  incoming  class.  The  broad  campus  swarmed  with 
freshmen,  brave  with  youth,  whose  bearing  was  at  once 
important  and  deprecating.  Their  pride  of  union  with 
the  great  institution  had  already  developed  the  sense 
of  ownership,  the  unjaded  imagination  of  the  blossom 
period  transforming  these  wide  lawns,  these  halls  and 
towers  into  a  camping-ground  of  glory  whence  one  might 
issue  to  subdue  nations— or  parents! 

Mingling  with  the  newcomers  were  the  sophomores, 
the  weight  of  a  year's  advantage  heavy  upon  them,  the 
tolerant  juniors  on  the  lookout  for  a  tribute  of  humor- 
ous occurrences  from  these  fledglings,  the  experienced 
and  aloof  seniors.  An  occasional  impassive  professor 
slipped  in  and  out  among  the  crowd. 

A  dispassionate  observer  watching  these  boys  and 
girls,  visible  exponents  of  the  charms  and  crudities  of 

1 


THE    LAW    OF    LIFE 

the  transition  period,  might  well  have  asked  questions 
concerning  the  kind  of  education  which  they  would 
receive  in  their  four  years'  passage  through  the  Uni- 
versity. The  little  world  of  youth,  with  its  buoyant 
egotism,  its  crude  emotions,  its  vague  but  strong  ambi- 
tions, might  stumble  upon  knowledge  not  provided  for 
in  the  University  curriculum. 

The  thought  brought  a  smile  to  the  lips  of  a  young 
man  who  stood  on  the  porch  of  the  library-building 
watching  the  passers-by,  and,  in  his  turn,  much  observed 
by  them.  He  compelled  attention  not  only  because  he 
was  tall,  well  built  and  good  looking,  but  for  certain 
less  tangible  qualities,  embodied  memories,  it  would 
seem,  of  a  world,  if  not  more  complex,  yet  larger  than 
Hallworth  University. 

A  freshman  passed  him,  a  country  girl  with  round, 
pink  cheeks,  and  an  expression  at  once  timid  and  eager. 
Seeing  that  she  had  dropped  her  handkerchief,  he  hur- 
ried after  her,  bowing  slightly  as  he  gave  it  to  her  with 
a  grace  of  manner  which  seemed  less  physical  than  the 
result  of  a  certain  mental  distinction.  She  looked  at 
him  in  wonder,  blushed,  and  forgot  to  thank  him. 

Turning  from  her  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with 
the  professor  of  mathematics  whose  Fellow  he  was  to 
be  that  year,  while  studying  for  his  doctorate.  His  air 
of  indifference  vanished  at  once.  The  two  men  shook 
hands  warmly. 

* l  When  did  you  come,  Waring  1 '  * 

"Only  this  morning." 

"I  am  delighted  to  see  you— have  only  time  for 
a  handshake  now;  but  dine  with  me  to-night,  can't 
you  1 ' ' 

2 


AVE!    ALMA    MATER 

''Indeed,  yes,  with  pleasure.  I  see  you're  in  a  hurry. 
A  problem?" 

Dr.  Penfold  smiled.  He  pushed  a  gray  lock  from 
his  brow  with  a  characteristic  gesture. 

"Well,  yes,  I  suppose  you  might  call  it  so."  He 
hesitated,  looked  down,  flecked  some  dust  from  the  well- 
worn  sleeve  of  his  coat,  and  straightened  his  tie. 

"The  fact  is  I  have  a  ward  in  Hallworth  this  year— 
the  niece  of  my  lifelong  friend,  Dale  the  historian.  She 
arrived  yesterday,  or  I  believe  she  did.  I  was  to  have 
met  her,  but  I  totally  forgot  the  obligation  until  five 
minutes  ago.  I  am  at  work,  you  know,  on  my  new 
book,"  he  added,  with  a  note  of  apology  in  his  voice. 

Waring  laughed. 

"Dear  Doctor,  Hallworth  is  fortunate.  You'll  for- 
get to  die. ' ' 

"To-night,  then,  at  6.30!" 

He  went  on  his  way  with  what  the  students  called  his 
"spellbound"  walk.  His  appearance  was  that  of  an 
eccentric  but  amiable  scholar.  Though  only  forty-five 
years  of  age,  his  hair  was  quite  gray,  his  brow  heavily 
lined,  giving  him  the  look  of  a  man  nearing  sixty.  His 
large,  finely  developed  head  was  set  upon  a  meager  but 
not  ill-proportioned  body.  His  features,  strong  and 
well  modeled,  were  softened  by  an  innocent  and  ab- 
stracted expression.  He  had  the  impersonal  air  of  the 
born  mathematician.  The  shabbiness  of  his  clothes 
gave  the  impression  less  of  poverty  than  of  absent- 
mindedness. 

From  the  beginning  of  his  career  Amos  Penfold 's 
eccentricities  had  been  forgotten  or  pardoned  because 

3 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

of  the  splendor  of  his  gifts.  His  intellect  had  advanced 
from  development  to  development,  but  his  character 
seemed  crystallized  in  youth.  What  he  had  been  at 
twenty,  shy,  innocent,  abstracted,  with  the  sexlessness 
of  the  scholar,  knowing  no  passion  but  that  of  her- 
culean work,  he  was  at  forty-five.  His  twenty  years  at 
Hallworth  had  established  his  European  reputation,  had 
drawn  to  the  young  University  those  who  might  other- 
wise have  distrusted  its  youth;  but  they  brought  no 
change  in  his  manner  of  life.  His  monastic  existence 
bore  about  it  something  of  a  medieval  atmosphere  amid 
the  modern  conditions  of  a  new  and  growing  college. 

As  Waring  stood  looking  after  Penfold  with  an 
expression  half-amused,  half-affectionate,  a  friendly 
hand  was  laid  on  his  shoulder.  Turning  he  saw  Dut- 
ton,  the  assistant  professor  of  chemistry,  a  man  about 
his  own  age.  Dutton's  lean,  brown  face  and  kind  eyes 
were  boyishly  eager.  Linking  an  arm  in  Waring 's  he 
drew  him  down  the  steps  of  the  porch. 

"I  haven't  had  a  word  with  you  yet.  Come  for  a 
walk.     Let's  be  freshmen  for  an  hour." 

* '  If  one  only  could ! ' ' 

They  crossed  the  campus  and  soon  came  to  the  ravine 
which  bounded  the  University  lands  on  the  north.  The 
wild  beauty  of  the  gorge  was  scarcely  impaired  by  the 
bridges  which  crossed  it,  and  the  power-houses  built  at 
the  bases  of  its  cliffs.  On  the  bridge  which  overlooked 
one  of  the  numerous  waterfalls  the  two  men  paused. 
The  trees  which  fringed  the  ravine  were  gorgeous  in 
yellows  and  crimsons,  thrown  into  relief  by  the  dark 
green  of  the  pines.  At  the  end  of  a  long  perspective 
toward  the  west  the  valley  opened,   and  the  stream, 

4 


AVE!    ALMA   MATER 

which  had  pounded  its  way  through  the  bed  of  the 
gorge  and  descended  in  showers  of  foam  the  last  high 
fall,  crept  placidly  across  the  plain  to  join  the  lake. 
Beyond  the  valley  rose  the  sunset  hills,  etherealized  with 
faint  blue  mists. 

They  looked  long  at  the  view.  To  Waring,  as  to  the 
majority  of  the  children  of  Hallworth,  the  charm  of 
their  Alma  Mater  was  heightened  by  her  natural  set- 
ting, with  its  command  of  hills  and  valley,  sky  and  lake. 
Every  window  of  her  buildings  framed  a  picture,  so  that 
the  cloud-shadows  on  the  hills,  the  blue  glints  of  the 
dancing  water,  the  tremulous  jewel-lights  of  morning 
and  evening  on  distant  landscapes,  wove  themselves  into 
the  most  abstract  subjects  of  the  lecture-room  like  a 
tissue  of  gold  threads. 

"Does  it  look  natural?"  Dutton  said. 

1  *  Just  as  it  did  nine  years  ago. ' ' 

"Nine  years!     It  can't  be  that  long." 

"Four  at  Hallworth— five  in  New  York!" 

"Those  five  years  in  New  York  should  have  made 
us  strangers,"  Dutton  said,  wistfully.  "You  wrote  so 
seldom— and  told  so  little." 

"I'm  not  a  very  good  correspondent.  Besides  there 
was  little  to  tell— five  years  of  grub  reporting— that 
was  all." 

"You  seem  to  forget  Cuba,  that  war  correspondence 
that  filled  us  so  full  of  pride  up  here— pride  that  you 
were  ours!" 

"Oh,  Cuba  gave  me  my  chance— the  money  to  get 
back  here." 

Dutton  hesitated. 

"Waring,  I  never  quite  understood  it.     I  mean  those 
5 


THE    LAW   OF   LIFE 

shocks  that  came  to  you  just  after  your  graduation.  Of 
course  I  couldn't  ask  you— then,  and  the  papers  told 
such  different  tales." 

"It  was  simple  enough.  My  father  lost  his  fortune 
in  a  Wall  street  collapse.  I  had  to  turn  in  at  once,  and 
I  got  on  a  New  York  daily. ' ' 

"Well,  Heaven  be  praised,  you're  back!  But  I 
never  dreamed  you'd  come  back— after  the  Cuban  expe- 
rience." 

"Why  not?" 

"I  thought  you  wouldn't  care  to,  after  being  in  the 
main  currents.  I  thought  that  Hallworth  would  seem 
too  monastic— out  of  touch  with  life." 

Waring  smiled. 

1 '  It  might  be  possible  that  a  University  career  rightly 
managed  could  be  brought  very  close  to  life.  They 
seem  to  know  how  to  do  that  sort  of  thing  in  England. ' ' 

He  hesitated,  as  if  he  wished  to  say  more,  but  Dut- 
ton,  gazing  placidly  down  the  ravine,  did  not  look  alto- 
gether in  an  understanding  state  of  mind. 

"Shall  we  go  on— if  we're  going  to  walk?" 

"Let's  take  the  forest  road,"  Dutton  said. 

"I  shall  meet  too  many  ghosts." 

"You'll  probably  meet  half  the  Faculty  at  this 
hour." 

' '  You  must  tell  me  who 's  here  and  who 's  gone.  Dur- 
ing the  war  I  lost  track." 

The  two  men  entered  a  pretty  path  which  led  along 
the  edge  of  the  ravine,  back  into  the  country. 

"Shall  I  begin  at  the  top?  There's  the  new  Presi- 
dent, Hunt." 

"What  of  him?" 

6 


AVE!    ALMA    MATER 

' '  Fifty-five— unmarried  —  decanters  —  dogs  —  tobacco 
and  scholarship  enough  to  stock  the  Faculty.  Hall- 
worth  snapped  him  up  because  Yale  wanted  him.  They 
offered  three  thousand  a  year  more.  - ' 

"Wealth  bowling  over  aristocracy,  as  usual.  But 
they'll  never  have  another  Maturin.  I  heard  he  mar- 
ried a  year  or  so  before  his  death.  I  never  thought  he 
would  do  that." 

"Wait  till  you  meet  Mrs.  Maturin/ '  Dutton  said,  a 
faint  flush  overspreading  his  face,  "then  you'll  know 
why." 

"She  still  lives  here?" 

"Yes,  in  the  new  house  he  built  her  just  back  of  the 
campus.     I  '11  take  you  there. ' ' 

They  passed  a  man  whose  face  wore  a  heavy,  frown- 
ing look.  A  bulldog  trotted  at  his  heels.  To  their 
greeting  he  returned  a  scant  response. 

"Leonard  still  has  indigestion,"  Dutton  said,  apolo- 
getically. 

"So  I  see.  Does  Mrs.  Leonard  still  give  little  con- 
solation dinners  to  the  instructors?" 

"Poor  soul,  yes,  and  confides  to  each  one  how  un- 
happy she  is  with  her  husband.  He  is  writing  a  history 
of  Russia,  and  between  his  researches  and  his  indigestion 
he's  half  crazy.  I  imagine  he  does  treat  her  like  a 
brute." 

"  I  've  news,  too, ' '  Waring  said,  suddenly. 

"What?" 

"Penf old's  been  made  a  guardian— has  a  girl  ward 
in  college  this  year. ' ' 

1 '  Oh,  Lord ! ' '  Dutton  exclaimed ;  then  he  threw  back 
his  head  and  laughed  gleefully. 

7 


THE    LAW   OF   LIFE 

' 'Poor  old  Penfold,  why,  he  needs  a  guardian  him- 
self! The  girl  will  have  the  responsibility  of  herself 
and  of  him  too. ' ' 

A  turn  of  the  path  brought  them  face  to  face  with 
a  young  woman  whom  Waring  knew  well,  Allaire  Sor- 
dello,  the  daughter  of  the  professor  of  psychology.  In 
the  five  years  which  had  elapsed  since  he  had  last  seen 
her  her  face  had  remained  in  his  memory  with  the  dis- 
tinctness of  a  cameo.  She  was  of  a  delicate  build,  with 
clear,  white  skin,  gray  eyes,  black  lashes,  perfectly 
chiselled  features  and  a  chin  like  the  Madonna  of  Botti- 
celli in  the  National  Gallery.  Her  expression  was  singu- 
lar, at  once  pathetic  and  bored.  A  faint  light  over- 
spread her  face  as  she  recognized  Waring.  She  held 
out  her  hand  to  him,  at  the  same  time  nodding  to 
Dutton. 

"I  heard  that  you  were  back  to  get  a  doctorate.  I 
was  disappointed." 

''Disappointed?" 

"I  credited  you  with  doing  something  more  original 
after  Cuba!" 

"Spare  me  Cuba!"  Waring  said,  with  mock  dismay. 

"What  would  you  have  him  do,  Allaire?"  Dutton 
asked. 

She  ignored  the  question  and  addressed  herself  to 
Waring. 

"How  can  you  come  back  for  a  stupid  doctorate 
when  you've  been  under  fire— written  war  stories  under 
fire?  If  I  were  a  man  I'd  go  on  living— hunt  tigers  in 
Asia,  or  I'd  look  up  the  North  Pole.  People  don't  live 
in  a  university.  Oh,  I'm  going  to  join  the  gypsies 
and  take  to  the  open  road,"  she  added,  with  fierce  and 

8 


AVE!    ALMA   MATER 

helpless  emphasis.  "And  I  advise  you  two  to  do  the 
same." 

Waring  laughed. 

"If  we  may  be  in  the  same  band  with  you  we'll  go 
this  minute,"  he  said,  but  his  gallantry  was  wasted. 
Allaire  had  turned  on  her  heel  and  left  them.  Her 
movements  were  always  quick  and  quiet,  like  those  of  a 
little  forest  animal". 

"How  she  chafes  under  it  all,"  Dutton  said. 

"I  don't  wonder;  Hallworth  in  some  ways  is  as  me- 
chanical as  a  monastery.  She's  right.  They  don't  live 
here.  Shall  I  turn  scholar-gypsy,  Dutton?  No,  I  shall 
put  on  an  evening-coat  and  dine  with  Penfold."  He 
looked  at  his  watch.     ' '  I  must  turn  back  or  I  '11  be  late. ' ' 


CHAPTER  II. 

A  NEW  WORLD. 

Barbara  Dale,  Dr.  Penf old's  ward,  sat  in  her  room 
in  the  women's  dormitory,  her  arms  outspread  upon 
her  study  table,  her  head  resting  upon  a  book.  Her 
eyes  were  closed  and  through  the  thick  black  lashes 
tears  were  forcing  their  way.  On  this  October  after- 
noon, with  the  sights  and  sounds  of  Hallworth  all  about 
her,  her  thoughts  were  of  her  old  home.  She  was  op- 
pressed with  that  most  bitter  form  of  homesickness, 
nostalgia  for  conditions  which  can  never  be  again. 

The  very  foundations  of  her  life  seemed  to  have 
been  swept  away  on  that  night  in  June,  when,  clasping 
her  hand  to  the  end,  her  uncle  had  passed  to  some  strange 
ceremony  of  reception  in  worlds  denied  to  her.  She  had 
been  left  to  him  when  three  years  old,  a  precious,  em- 
barrassing gift  to  the  bachelor-scholar,  the  recluse  of  a 
New  England  village.  But  the  comfort  that  fame  had 
never  brought  him  came  to  him  eventually  through  her 
quaint  childhood,  and  he  gave  her,  in  return,  of  his  love 
and  of  his  learning,  putting  the  most  winsome  elements 
of  his  vast  knowledge  at  her  service. 

This  long  childhood  had  ended  at  a  wide  and  open 
grave,  and  she  saw  no  bridge  across  it.  In  those  first 
days  after  the  funeral,  when  she  had  set  his  house  in 
order,  her  love  broke  itself  again  and  again  upon  famil- 
iar objects,  made  strange  and  awful  by  his  going;  his 
armchair,  the  worn,  brown  copies  of  Virgil  they  had 
read  together  that  she  might  learn  to  love  "Virgilius, 

10 


A    NEW    WORLD 

sweetest  Father,"  the  letter  in  his  delicate,  precise 
handwriting  left  unfinished  on  his  desk,  each  thing  hurt 
her  until  all  memories  were  merged  in  intolerable  pain. 

A  knock  came  at  her  door  and  a  servant  entered  with 
her  guardian's  card.  She  had  never  met  him,  and  she 
knew  little  of  him  except  that  he  was  a  friend  of  her 
uncle's  and  a  famous  mathematician.  She  stopped  a 
moment  to  bathe  her  red  eyelids,  then  went  down 
through  the  long  halls  slowly  to  gain  courage. 

In  the  drawing-room  she  found  a  gray-haired  man 
deep  in  the  pages  of  a  review.  He  did  not  notice  her 
entrance,  and  though  she  was  sure  he  must  be  her 
guardian,  she  did  not  like  to  break  in  abruptly  upon  his 
evident  absorption.  She  seated  herself  near  him  to 
wait  until  he  finished  the  article.  After  what  seemed 
to  her  a  long  time  he  closed  the  review  dreamily  and 
rose  to  go,  being  apparently  unaware  of  her  presence. 
She  was  so  astonished  at  this  complete  detachment  from 
time  and  place  that  he  had  reached  the  door  of  the 
drawing-room  before  she  could  collect  herself,  then  she 
hastened  after  him. 

"I  beg  pardon.    Is  this  Dr.  Penfold?" 

He  turned  and  looked  at  her  with  mild  surprise. 

"lam  Dr.  Penfold.     What  can  I  do  for  you  V ' 

Barbara  blushed. 

' '  I  am  your  ward. ' ' 

He  gazed  at  her  an  instant,  then  took  both  her  hands 
in  eager  apology. 

"Why,  yes,  yes,  of  course;  I  came  here  to  call  on 
you,  didn't  I!  I  must  ask  pardon.  I  was  reading  the 
Dean's  article  on  the  Vatican  and  France,  and  com- 
pletely forgot  where  I  was." 

11 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

Barbara  smiled. 

"I  did  not  want  to  let  you  go  without  greeting  you." 

"How  like  your  uncle  you  are,  the  same  dark  eyes. 
Ah !  those  good  eyes  of  his ! ' ' 

Barbara  turned  away  her  head  an  instant. 

"I  appreciate  more  than  I  can  say,"  Dr.  Penfold 
went  on,  "his  trust  in  me  in  appointing  me  your  guar- 
dian." 

"You  were  his  very  dear  friend." 

"He  befriended  me  in  the  days  of  my  early  strug- 
gles. I  can't  pay  back  the  debt,  but  you  must  let  me 
do  what  I  can." 

He  spoke  with  an  earnestness  of  manner  which 
showed  that  some  compelling  memory  had  brought  him 
out  of  his  vagueness  into  the  reality  of  the  moment.  He 
looked  at  her  intently,  as  if  to  impress  her  physical  char- 
acteristics upon  his  mind.  Barbara  was  a  tall,  slender 
girl,  with  a  clear  white  complexion,  dark  hair  and  gray 
eyes  dark  enough  to  seem  black  under  the  long  lashes. 
Her  mouth  was  firm  but  sweet ;  the  chin,  always  slightly 
raised,  was  delicately  modeled.  Amos  Penfold  was  not 
sensitive  to  beauty  in  women,  and  it  would  have  required 
keener  and  more  prophetic  eyes  than  his  to  discern 
beauty  in  Barbara  at  that  time.  Hers  was  a  face  de- 
pendent for  its  charm  upon  the  soul  and  its  moods.  She 
belonged  to  the  class  of  women,  whose  development 
being  slow  and  late,  beauty  may  enrich  at  an  age  when 
their  more  precocious  sisters  are  bankrupt. 

"Do  you  like  it  here?"  Dr.  Penfold  asked,  abruptly. 

"No,  not  yet." 

"Too  many  girls." 

"Yes.    Hallworth  seems  like  a  little  city." 
12 


A    NEW    WORLD 

' '  What  course  will  you  take ! ' ' 

"The  classical.  I'm  not  well  prepared  for  the 
others,  but  Uncle  Eobert  taught  me  to  read  Greek  and 
Latin." 

"Are  you  fond  of  study?" 

Barbara  hesitated. 

"In  an  irregular  way." 

"Browsing?  Well,  the  culture  of  those  who  browse 
is  not  to  be  underrated.  We  all  work  too  hard  these 
days.  We  have  not  enough  nonchalance  toward  learn- 
ing." 

"Do  you  know,"  Barbara  said,  "why  my  uncle 
wished  me  to  cOme  here?     I  am  glad— to  have — to  have 

you  for  my  guardian,  but "      She  paused  with  a 

look  of  trouble  in  her  face. 

* l  You  did  not  want  to  come ! ' ' 

"Not  at  all.  I  wanted  to  stay  at  the  homestead. 
But  it  was  his  wish— so  I  came.  He  was  too  ill  to  tell 
me  why." 

Dr.  Penfold  looked  puzzled. 

1 '  How  old  are  you,  Barbara  ? ' ' 

"Just  twenty." 

"  In  a  year  you  will  be  your  own  mistress.  One  year 
will  tell  you  whether  you  care  enough  for  college  life  to 
complete  the  course.  Perhaps  Dr.  Dale  thought  that 
you  would  forget  sooner  in  new  surroundings. ' ' 

"Forget!" 

Her  eyes  were  misty.     Dr.  Penfold  took  her  hand. 

1 '  You  must  like  us  here.  It  is  a  young  world,  a  good 
world." 

A  smile  lit  up  her  face  like  a  gleam  of  sudden  sun- 
light. 

13 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

"It  will  be  my  fault  if  I  do  not  like  it." 

"Now  will  you  not  come  and  take  dinner  with  me? 
I  am  at  the  mercy  of  my  housekeeper,  old  Mehitabel, 
but  she  will  probably  have  something  for  us. ' ' 

"I  should  be  so  glad  to  come,  if  you're  sure  I  will 
not  inconvenience  you— not  interfere  with  your  work." 

"I  shall  turn  you  over  to  Richard  Waring  if  I  must 
work. ' ' 

"To  Richard  Waring?" 

"My  Fellow  in  mathematics.  He  will  dine  with  us 
to-night." 

On  the  way  to  his  own  house,  Dr.  Penfold  pointed 
out  the  various  buildings  to  her. 

"They  tell  a  story  here,"  he  said,  "of  an  Oxonian 
who  came  over  to  occupy  a  chair  in  Hallworth.  He 
paused  on  the  edge  of  the  campus,  surveyed  the  build- 
ings, and  then  took  the  next  train  back  to  New  York, 
and  the  next  steamer  to  Europe.  I  suppose  it  was  a 
blow  after  Oxford,  but  he  should  have  remembered  how 
useful  these  structures  are." 

Barbara  laughed. 

"They  look  very  grand  to  me,  but  then  I've  had 
nothing  to  compare  them  with." 

"Hallworth  does  a  great  work,  but  she  is  young— 
too  young  for  ivy." 

He  led  her  up  a  neat  garden  path  to  a  small,  com- 
pact house,  gray  in  color.  The  square  hall  into  which 
he  ushered  her  was  lined  with  books,  and  with  casts 
from  the  frieze  of  the  Parthenon.  Something  in  the 
quiet,  Puritanical  aspect  of  the  place  reminded  Bar- 
bara of  her  old  home. 

Dr.  Penfold,  who  had  been  making  a  conscious 
14 


A    NEW   WORLD 

effort  to  keep  his  mind  upon  his  ward  and  the  courtesies 
due  her,  now  seemed  to  come  under  the  spell  of  his  own 
house.  He  glanced  up  the  stairs  at  his  study  door,  and 
seemed  about  to  go  thither,  though  with  an  apologetic 
countenance,  as  if  under  the  command  of  an  irresistible 
force.  Barbara  saw  the  glances  and  understood  them. 
She  begged  him  to  leave  her  to  entertain  herself. 

The  parlor  was  a  plain,  old-fashioned  room,  with 
ancient  mahogany  furniture  placed  stiffly  against  the 
wall,  beneath  chilly  steel-engravings  of  Washington,  of 
Franklin  and  of  Lincoln.  The  windows  were  curtain- 
less,  the  shades  being  pulled  down  to  an  even  length,  as 
if  by  a  spinster  hand.  A  bookcase  containing  a  desk 
occupied  one  corner.  Barbara,  examining  the  titles  of 
the  books,  found  them  to  be  the  keepsakes  and  volumes 
of  mild  sentimental  poetry  with  which  an  earlier  gen- 
eration fed  its  hunger  for  romance.  Clearly  this  quaint 
library  had  belonged  to  Dr.  Penfold's  mother  or  grand- 
mother. 

A  tall,  gaunt  woman  of  middle  age  entered  and  lit 
the  wood  fire  on  the  hearth.  Barbara  drew  up  a  chair 
and  watched  the  flames  leap  and  curl.  She  wanted  no 
better  entertainment. 

She  was  leaning  forward,  her  elbows  on  her  knee  and 
her  chin  resting  on  the  palms  of  her  hands,  when  Me- 
hitabel  ushered  Waring  into  the  parlor.  He  paused  a 
moment  on  the  threshold,  seeing  the  black  figure  like  a 
shadow  in  the  flood  of  rosy  light.  She  raised  her  head 
with  an  absorbed  look;  then  as  he  came  forward  she 
rose  and  faced  him,  a  slim,  nun-like  figure  in  her  black 
gown. 

Waring  liked  to  form  instantaneous  impressions  of 
2  15 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

women  and  then  to  put  these  impressions  to  gradual 
proof.  He  thought  now  as  he  looked  into  Barbara's 
face: 

"She  spells  New  England— would  rather  be  con- 
scientious than  charming." 

She  gave  him  her  hand  with  the  straightforward  ges- 
ture of  a  lad. 

"You  are  Mr.  Waring?  Dr.  Penfold  is  in  his 
study." 

She  stood  in  hesitation,  as  if  expecting  he  would 
leave  her.     Waring  was  amused. 

"May  I  stay  here?  If  Dr.  Penfold  is  working,  an 
introduction  would  be  necessary. ' ' 

Barbara  smiled,  remembering  her  own  experience. 

u  He  is  so  absent-minded,  you  know.  There 's  a  story 
that  in  his  youth— he  was  really  young  once— he  pro- 
posed to  a  girl  and  she  accepted  him.  Then  he  became 
absorbed  in  a  mathematical  problem  and  completely  for- 
got her  existence.  When  he  emerged  she  had  married 
some  one  else. ' ' 

A  light  of  humor  shone  for  a  moment  in  Barbara's 
eyes.  Then  she  drew  her  straight  dark  brows  together 
in  a  slight  frown. 

' '  Ought  we  to  talk  about  him  in  Irs  own  house  ? ' '  she 
said,  then  caught  her  breath  at  the  sound  of  her  words. 

Waring  smiled.  His  smile  had  a  sweetness  in  it 
which  hurt  Barbara  more  than  a  rebuke. 

"Not  unless  we  really  like  him.  I  can't  tell  you  how 
he's  beloved  here.  I  chose  to  take  my  doctorate  in 
mathematics  so  I  could  be  associated  with  him  this 
year. ' ' 

He  looked  at  her  with  new  interest.  He  had  thought 
16 


A    NEW    WORLD 

her  rigid  and  he  found  her  impulsive.  Waring  was 
grateful  to  women  for  surprising  him.  There  was  a 
tradition  at  Hallworth  that  when  a  senior  he  had  broken 
an  engagement  because  the  girl  always  did  and  said  the 
expected  thing. 

Barbara's  impulsive  speech  had  stranded  her  in  si- 
lence.   From  silence  she  passed  to  an  irrelevant  question. 

' '  Does  work  begin  on  Monday  1  ■ ' 

"Yes.     Are  you  anxious  to  begin?" 

1 '  I  shall  be  glad  to  work— yes. ' ' 

Waring  leaned  forward  and  stirred  the  fire.  The 
flames  lit  up  his  handsome,  careless  face. 

1  *  Don 't  study  too  hard.     It  isn  't  worth  it ! " 

' '  What  else  is  there  to  do  ? "  Barbara  asked. 

Waring  laughed. 

"A  thousand  things,  dances  and  fraternity  suppers, 
and  other  functions.  You'll  be  rushed,  as  they  call  it, 
by  all  four  of  your  fraternities. ' ' 

"Fraternities?" 

"Is  it  possible  you  don't  know  what  they  are?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Let  me  enlighten  you.  There  are  secret  societies 
of  young  ladies,  presumably  the  flowers  of  our  flock.  A 
new  member  pledges  herself  to  love  her  twenty-one  sis- 
ters, to  have  twenty-one  bosom  friends,  and  to  regard  all 
outsiders  as— well— cats ! ' ' 

"Twenty-one  bosom  friends!"  Barbara  repeated, 
with  vague  alarm. 

1 '  Or  nineteen,  as  the  case  may  be. ' ' 

"But  for  what  object?" 

"A  good  time  and  rivalries  with  the  other  fraterni- 
ties." 

17 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

"I  do  not  think  I  should  care  to  join— at  least  not 
this  year, ' '  she  added,  with  an  unconscious  glance  at  her 
black  gown. 

1 'But  they  will  ask  you  to  teas  and  things,  and  send 
you  flowers,"  Waring  said,  amused  by  her  prophetic 
resentment  of  the  gregarious  state. 

"They  do  not  know  of  my  existence.' ' 

"Yes,  they  do— as  Dr.  Penfold's  ward.  Aside  from 
other  considerations,  students  having  social  connections 
with  the  Faculty  are  considered  valuable  prey." 

"You  are  laughing  at  me,"  Barbara  said  gravely. 

"Indeed,  no!    I  am  laughing  at  them." 

1  i  Yet  you  advise  me  to  do  as  they  do. ' ' 

"Not  at  all.  I  only  said  don't  study  too  hard,  it 
isn't  worth  it." 

"What  is  worth  it?" 

They  looked  across  at  each  other  and  Waring  smiled. 

"I  haven't  yet  found  out.     What  do  you  think?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"I  might  have  told  you  my  theories— a  year  ago.  I 
have  none  now." 

A  look  of  sympathy  stole  into  Waring 's  face. 

' '  I  was  homesick  once, ' '  he  said,  '  •  for  a  home  I  never 
had.     So  I  adopted  Hallworth." 

"Must  I  adopt  Hallworth?" 

"You'll  want  to  later  on  when  you  know  your  Alma 
Mater." 

She  looked  puzzled. 

"I  don't  think  I  could  ever  love  an  institution." 

Waring  was  silent  for  a  moment.    Then  he  said : 

"You  must  love  Hallworth.  We  must  show  you 
how." 

18 


A   NEW    WORLD 

Dinner  was  a  simple  function.  The  appointments, 
the  manner  of  serving  reminded  Barbara  of  her  old 
home.  She  felt  at  her  ease,  as  if  in  an  atmosphere 
wholly  familiar.  For  the  time  being  the  embarrassing, 
youthful  world  of  Hallworth  was  shut  out.  Waring  she 
did  not  include  in  this  world,  though  she  could  not  have 
told  in  what  the  difference  lay. 

During  the  dinner  he  talked  chiefly  with  Dr.  Penfold, 
only  addressing  her  enough  to  make  her  feel  that  she 
was  included  in  the  conversation,  which  drifted  into  a 
discussion  of  a  recent  work  on  evolution,  and  its  sig- 
nificance in  the  religious  life  of  the  age.  Barbara  list- 
ened with  silent,  impersonal  interest.  From  early  child- 
hood her  uncle  had  taught  her  his  own  creed,  the  obliga- 
tion of  facing  without  fear  the  bleakest  perspectives  of 
the  universe.  But  this  intellectual  acquaintance  with 
that  boundless  region  beyond  the  paddock  of  orthodoxy 
was  combined  in  her  with  a  certain  emotional  and  youth- 
ful longing  for  the  definite  and  concrete. 

This  longing  was  upon  her  now  as  Waring  discussed 
the  book  in  question,  choosing  his  vocabulary  with  a 
fine  sense  of  delicate  distinctions.  She  wondered  if  he 
would  say  something  to  throw  light. 

Suddenly  Dr.  Penfold  interrupted  him. 

"We  are  not  saying  anything,  Miss  Dale -Barbara— 
that  would  offend  you— seem  strange  to  you ?" 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon.  Are  you  a ?"  War- 
ing hesitated. 

"No,  I  have  read  the  book,"  she  answered,  quietly, 
"And  the  one  that  went  before." 

He  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  The  child-likeness 
of  her  manner  seemed  difficult  to  reconcile  with  the  ma- 

19 


THE    LAW   OF   LIFE 

turity  of  thought  which  acquaintance  with  such  works 
implied. 

"I  read  them  with  my  uncle,"  she  explained,  seeing 
the  questions  in  Waring 's  eyes. 

"What  did  you  think  of  them?" 

1 '  They  made  me  feel  lonely, ' '  she  answered,  simply. 

Waring 's  face  lit  up  with  appreciation. 

' !  How  lonely  we  are  in  these  days !  And  the  ortho- 
dox think  we're  insolent  over  our  liberty." 

Dr.  Penfold  looked  at  Barbara  with  a  kindly  expres- 
sion. 

"It  is  a  big  universe  to  face,"  he  said,  as  if  speaking 
to  a  child;  "but  never  mind,  my  dear,  we  shiverers  in 
the  outer  darkness  will  earn  our  orthodoxy  for  a  snug 
old  age." 

"Meanwhile?"  said  Waring,  looking  at  Barbara, 
with  the  hope  of  drawing  her  out. 

He  expected  that,  like  other  young  ladies  acquainted 
with  the  initiated  thought  of  the  time  in  matters  reli- 
gious, she  would  launch  upon  the  didactics  of  doubt. 
She  did  not  answer  him  at  once,  and  he  repeated  the 
question. 

"And  meanwhile ?" 

"One  can  try  to  be  good,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice, 
but  her  accent  made  the  answer  tentative. 

Waring  felt  that  he  should  like  her— she  had  sur- 
prised him  twice. 

After  dinner  two  members  of  the  Faculty  dropped  in, 
Professor  Goodwin,  who  shook  hands  with  Barbara,  and 
addressed  her  as  if  she  were  a  little  girl ;  and  a  younger 
man,  who  immediately  drew  Waring  into  close  conversa- 
tion on  some  political  question  with  which  she  was  not 

20 


A   NEW   WORLD 

familiar.  They  all  asked  her  permission  to  smoke  when 
Dr.  Penfold  passed  a  box  of  cigars,  and  then  they  for- 
got her  existence —with  the  exception  of  Waring.  He 
looked  across  at  her  from  time  to  time  while  Joyce  was 
talking  to  him,  and  once  or  twice  he  addressed  a  remark 
to  her.  Feeling  that  she  was  on  his  mind,  she  took  up  a 
book  lying  on  the  table  near  her.  She  had  read  a  page 
or  two  when  Waring  came  over  to  her. 

"What  are  you  reading?  Ah,  I  see!  the  story  of 
Paolo  and  Francesca.     Are  you  fond  of  Dante?" 

' '  I  don 't  know  him  well. ' ' 

He  took  the  book  gently  from  her. 

"He  is  not  cheerful  when  one  is  homesick.  May  I 
ask  if  you  will  go  to  the  football  match  with  me  next 
Tuesday?" 


21 


CHAPTER  III. 


The  University  of  which  Barbara  had  become  a  mem- 
ber was  not,  like  Harvard  and  Yale,  an  institution  con- 
temporary throughout  its  history  with  the  gestation, 
birth  and  development  of  the  American  people,  but  be- 
longed to  the  generation  of  colleges  founded  after  the 
Civil  War.  What  it  lacked  in  pedigree  it  made  up  in 
fortune,  being  similar  in  this  respect  to  many  good 
Americans. 

Its  beginnings  had  been  humble.  John  Hallworth, 
its  founder,  possessed  only  a  modest  fortune  according 
to  twentieth  century  standards,  but  his  nature  was  rich 
in  that  pure  and  poetical  faith  in  the  future  which 
generations  before  had  shone  like  a  star  to  pilgrim  eyes 
above  the  dark  forests  of  the  New  World.  His  ideal  of 
a  university,  as  a  place  where  any  person  might  find  in- 
struction in  any  study,  was  at  once  that  of  a  poet  and  a 
man  of  affairs.  He  trusted  to  the  strength  of  this  ideal 
to  aid  the  growth  of  Hallworth,  and  as  the  solidest  of  all 
foundations  he  endowed  his  institution  with  land.  Out 
of  the  soil  some  of  the  sons  of  Hallworth  should  always 
derive  their  sustenance  and  their  inspiration,  though 
others  followed  Plato  and  Dante  to  the  farthest  star. 

The  founder's  knowledge  of  men,  coupled  with  a 
far-seeing  appreciation  of  the  kind  of  leadership  de- 
manded by  a  complex  educational  plant  in  a  commercial 
country,  led  him  to  choose  as  first  President  of  the  Uni- 
versity a  diplomat  who  was  also  a  scholar  of  vast  and 

22 


"UNDER  AN  ACADEMIC  STAR" 

varied  attainments.  He,  in  his  turn,  gathered  about 
him  a  well-selected  Faculty,  whose  strenuous  services  to 
Hallworth  counterbalanced  the  crime  of  its  extreme 
youth.  The  campus  was  laid  out  with  a  generosity  of 
prophetic  vision  common  in  the  foundation  of  Western 
towns.  The  American  faith  in  the  future  transformed 
the  bleak  field,  with  its  two  lonely  buildings,  into  a  lead- 
ing university  of  the  East. 

The  President,  with  his  diplomatic  experience  and 
knowledge  of  affairs,  was  the  first  to  perceive  the  crudi- 
ties and  possibilities  of  the  new  organization.  He  real- 
ized that  in  the  hurry  and  rush  of  a  commercial  coun- 
try the  slow  developments  of  Europe  were  neither  possi- 
ble nor  desirable;  that  Oxford,  mellow  with  age  and 
warm  with  the  faith  of  bygone  centuries,  would  be  an 
anachronism  and  a  stumbling-block  in  the  United  States. 
He  knew  the  necessity  of  a  university  made  out  of 
whole  cloth,  but  he  was  determined  that  the  cut  of  the 
cloth  should  be  correct  and  liberal  enough  to  fit  all 
possible  conditions. 

At  the  period  when  Barbara  entered  Hallworth  it 
had  fully  attained  its  urbane  maturity,  distributing 
favors  to  upward  of  three  thousand  students,  and  es- 
teeming no  trouble  too  much  to  take  for  its  wards, 
whether  keeping  the  buildings  at  a  certain  temperature 
or  importing  Assyrian  remains  and  doubtful  Botticellis 
for  their  benefit.  Something  material,  opulent,  lavish, 
was  prominent  through  the  entire  organization,  yet  the 
spirit  of  the  place  linked  it  directly  to  that  earlier  Hall- 
worth which  made  its  fledglings  comfortable  neither  in 
body  nor  in  soul.  The  machine-shops,  the  dairy,  the 
agricultural  buildings,  still  bound  its  sons  to  the  soil. 

23 


THE    LAW   OF   LIFE 

Certain  portions  of  the  vast  library  still  mapped  out 
that  journey  to  the  stars ;  while  underneath  all  its  enter- 
prises was  a  spirit  of  democracy  which  strove  to  uphold 
the  purest  American  ideals,  making  of  education  a  serv- 
ice, of  culture  a  wider  sympathy  with  humanity  and  its 
needs.  If  certain  of  its  well-wishers  mistrusted  the 
power  which  its  rapid  accumulation  of  wealth  placed  in 
its  hands,  the  policy  of  the  University  had,  as  yet,  given 
them  no  definite  cause  for  alarm. 

Barbara,  just  emerged  from  the  seclusion  of  a  quiet 
New  England  village,  had  no  idea  that  the  higher  edu- 
cation was  so  popular!  All  young  America  seemed  to 
have  arrived  upon  that  broad  campus  with  a  whoop  of 
joy,  and  to  have  taken  assured  possession.  The  downy 
things  swarmed  in  the  library  and  fluttered  about  the 
librarians.  They  overran  the  lecture-rooms,  the  labora- 
tories, the  museums.  They  inspected  the  chapel  and  the 
bronze  memorial  tablets  with  a  happy  sense  that  to  be  a 
live  freshman  was  infinitely  better  than  to  be  a  dead 
professor,  however  honored.  If  these  freshmen  had  a 
tinge  of  awe  it  vanished  when  they  learned  that  they  had 
passed  the  entrance  examinations.  They,  too,  joined 
then  in  the  general  scramble  and  exultation  over  the 
spoils,  with  much  parade  of  class-spirit  and  a  liberal 
use  of  red  paint  on  fence  and  tree  and  rock,  lest  the  Uni- 
versity should  be  unmindful  that  they  had  arrived. 

As  for  Barbara,  she  was  scarcely  aware  that  she  be- 
longed to  a  class.  Her  social  instincts,  long  dormant 
through  her  manner  of  living,  had  not  yet  had  time  to 
respond  to  the  manifestations  of  young  life  about  her. 
But  she  herself  was  not  unobserved  by  the  circles  in 
Stafford  Hall,  the  women's  dormitory.     True  to  War- 

24 


"UNDER   AN    ACADEMIC    STAR" 

ing's  prophecy,  several  of  the  fraternity  girls  had  called 
upon  her,  and  one  of  them  had  invited  her  to  afternoon 
tea  in  her  rooms  on  the  following  Monday. 

With  the  exception  of  the  few  hours  spent  at  Dr. 
Penf old's  the  intervening  days  were  gray  enough,  and 
she  was  glad  when  Monday  morning  came,  with  its 
promise  of  work  and  routine.  Work  might  at  least 
numb  the  pain  of  her  homesickness  and  quiet  her  rest- 
less spirit.  As  she  stepped  out  on  the  campus  a  half- 
hour  before  the  first  lecture,  a  sense  of  hope  came  to  her, 
the  mere  physical  response,  perhaps,  to  the  beauty  of  the 
day.  In  the  clear  air  of  a  crisp  October  morning  the 
towers  of  the  University  stood  out  against  the  dazzling 
blue  sky.  The  lake  in  the  distance  lay  like  a  blue  gem  at 
the  base  of  the  hills.  The  chimes  were  ringing.  Throngs 
of  students  were  walking  briskly  up  the  avenue ;  all  was 
movement,  animation,  enterprise.  Barbara  hurried 
along  with  the  rest,  her  eyes  less  occupied  with  her 
companions  than  with  the  lovely  autumn  scenery.  The 
blood  danced  in  her  veins.  A  keen  desire  filled  her  to 
run  away  and  go  for  a  ramble  over  those  beautiful  hills. 

In  front  of  the  library  her  attention  was  brought 
back  to  her  immediate  surroundings  by  a  little  crowd 
standing  about  a  young  man  who  bore  himself  like  a 
conscious  hero. 

1 *  Who  is  he ! ' '  Barbara  asked  a  girl  standing  by. 

1 'Why,  don't  you  know?"  she  answered,  raising  her 
eyebrows.  "That's  Griggs,  the  crack  football  player. 
He's  done  more  for  Hallworth  than  all  the  Faculty  put 
together. ' ' 

Barbara  looked  curiously  at  this  ornament  to  a  great 
institution,  a  shaggy  cub  with  a  mass  of  dark,  unkempt 

25 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

hair,  from  under  which  his  small,  keen  eyes  peered  forth 
like  a  terrier's.  His  sweater,  with  an  enormous  H  upon 
it,  came  up  in  a  roll  about  his  stocky  neck.  The  faces 
of  those  about  him  expressed  an  almost  reverential  joy 
in  the  possession  of  him.  Barbara  went  on  her  way  puz- 
zled. Her  old  ideas  of  academic  life  as  a  peaceful,  some- 
what sublimated  existence  were  being  rapidly  swept 
away  by  a  flood  of  new  impressions.  Did  the  meek  and 
visionary  student  belong  only  in  the  pages  of  some 
ancient  black-letter?  A  certain  youthful  gaiety  of  spirit 
seemed  so  far  the  predominant  element  at  Hallworth. 

Monroe  Hall,  where  her  first  hour  was  to  be,  formed 
the  centre  of  a  group  of  buildings  at  the  extreme  end 
of  the  campus.  Arriving  there  she  inquired  her  way  to 
the  junior  Latin.  Her  guide  piloted  her  to  a  large  room 
on  the  topmost  story,  already  half-filled  with  students. 
The  seats,  ranged  in  amphitheater  fashion,  commanded  a 
fine  view  of  the  lake.  After  she  had  found  a  place  and 
had  time  to  look  about  her,  she  recognized  among  the 
students  two  or  three  of  the  girls  who  had  called  upon 
her.  They  flashed  her  friendly  glances  of  recognition, 
then  resumed  the  somewhat  stately  impersonal  manner 
which  was  their  conventional  bearing  in  the  classroom. 

The  men  students,  less  self-conscious,  talked,  lounged 
or  fingered  their  note-books.  Suddenly  the  hum  of 
voices  ceased,  as,  on  the  stroke  of  the  clock,  a  young  man 
of  businesslike  bearing  stepped  briskly  up  to  the  desk 
on  the  platform. 

"Young  ladies  and  gentlemen,  we  will  begin  our 
term's  work  by  an  examination  of  your  ease  in  sight 
translation.  Warden,  will  you  please  distribute  these 
Virgils,  while  I  call  the  roll?" 

26 


"UNDER   AN    ACADEMIC    STAR" 

He  spoke  with  a  crisp  intonation  which  acted  on  the 
class  like  a  sudden  draft  of  cold  air.  They  all  sat 
up  and  looked  uncomfortable.  The  faces  of  some  ex- 
pressed that  vague  hostility  which  is  never  wholly  absent 
from  the  moral  atmosphere  when  a  number  of  people 
are  gathered  together  with  malice  prepense  for  the  pur- 
pose of  education. 

"Mr.  Able,  second  book,  line  772;  begin,  if  you 
please,  read  till  I  tell  you  to  stop,  then  go  back  and 
translate. ' ' 

Mr.  Able  found  the  place,  gulped,  and  began  dis- 
mally. 

"Infelix  simulacrum  atque  ipsius  umbra  Crusae,"  he 
went  on,  in  sad  monotony  of  cadence,  until  he  was  told 
to  stop. 

1 '  Now  translate,  if  you  please. ' ' 

Mr.  Able  was  seized  with  a  fit  of  coughing.  When 
he  began  it  was  to  plough  through  each  sentence  as  if  it 
had  been  a  quagmire. 

"Execrable,"  said  the  professor,  cutting  short  the 
performance. 

Mr.  Abie's  face  brightened  with  exquisite  relief. 
Barbara  wondered  whether  he  had  heard  the  word  which 
ended  his  sufferings. 

1 '  Mr.  Jones,  will  you  go  on  f " 

Mr.  Jones  went  on  with  a  martyr  air  which  would 
have  seemed  funny  to  Barbara  if  she  had  not  felt  such 
sympathy  for  him. 

"Enough,  Mr.  Jones.  Miss  Linsdale,  will  you  pro- 
ceed?" 

Miss  Linsdale  proceeded.  The  class  was  beginning  to 
breathe  easier.     It  leaned  back  in  its  seat,  and  meta- 

27 


THE    LAW    OF    LIFE 

phorically  stretched  its  legs.  Three  or  four  furtively 
looked  at  their  watches.  Others  counted  noses.  Bar- 
bara, losing  interest  in  the  incomparable  poet,  as  inter- 
preted by  the  youth  of  Hallworth,  let  her  gaze  wander 
to  the  lake.  A  breeze  had  sprung  up,  covering  its  sur- 
face with  dainty  whitecaps.  She  longed  to  escape  from 
the  close,  steam-heated  room  and  go  for  a  ramble  along 
its  banks. 

' '  Miss  Dale,  will  you  proceed  as  I  direct  ? '  * 

The  crisp  voice  was  like  a  thunderclap.  She  looked 
up  to  find  the  professor's  keen  blue  eyes  fixed  upon  her, 
and  not  only  his,  but  the  eyes  of  all  the  class.  The 
color  rushed  to  her  face.  For  a  moment  she  was  dumb 
with  embarrassment,  then  her  pride  came  to  her  rescue. 

' 'The  sixth  book,  please— line  883." 

She  braced  herself  to  the  ordeal  and  found  the  place. 
The  passage  was  the  pathetic  one  beginning  "Tu  Mar- 
cellus  eris."  She  had  often  read  it  to  her  uncle,  its 
melancholy  beauty  making  its  own  appeal  to  her  dream- 
ing youth.  A  surge  of  memories  swept  over  her.  The 
bald,  grammatical  Virgil  of  the  class  exercise  disap- 
peared. In  his  place  came  the  poet,  with  his  tender  and 
golden  grace,  his  wistfulness,  his  sense  of  the  tears  fall- 
ing through  the  mists  of  the  world. 

When  she  began  she  could  scarcely  control  her  voice, 
then  the  magic  of  the  sonorous  Latin  words  took  hold 
of  her,  and  she  gave  them  their  full  poetic  value. 

The  professor  looked  at  her  curiously.  He  was  not 
accustomed  to  hear  Latin  read  with  such  grace  of  into- 
nation by  a  student.  The  class  drew  its  first  long 
breath.  It  never  basked  until  the  young  man  at  the 
desk  had  been  appeased.     It  was  grateful  to  Barbara, 

28 


"UNDER   AN    ACADEMIC    STAR" 

but  its  gratitude  was  not  without  an  element  of  resent- 
ment. 

She  began  her  translation  with  quiet  ease,  and  as  she 
went  on  she  found  herself  searching  her  spirit  for  true 
words  to  express  the  pathos  and  haunting  beauty  of  the 
passage.  She  forgot  the  class.  She  was  reading  to  one 
dead.  The  professor,  accustomed  to  the  rigidity  of  the 
public-school-drilled  mind,  looked  at  her  in  amazement; 
then,  being  a  scholar  as  well  as  a  teacher,  leaned  back 
in  his  chair  and  listened  with  full  contentment.  This 
insignificant  girl  had  created  a  golden  atmosphere  about 
the  hackneyed  words. 

When  she  had  finished,  he  said : 

"You  are  prepared  for  senior  work,  Miss  Dale.  Will 
you  kindly  remain  after  the  hour?" 

Barbara  became  aware  then  that  three  or  four  men 
were  scowling  at  her,  and  she  overheard  a  masculine 
voice  behind  her  saying: 

"A  damned  co-ed,  as  usual!"  • 

The  shock  of  this  comment  was  tempered  by  her  re- 
lief at  having  come  through  her  ordeal,  but  she  cast  a 
questioning  look  toward  the  two  girls  she  knew.  They 
were  both  gazing  straight  before  them  with  a  curious 
smile,  which  affected  Barbara  more  than  the  rough 
words  she  had  overheard.  She  wondered  if,  unwittingly, 
she  had  made  herself  conspicuous,  and  her  cheeks 
burned.  One  of  the  two  girls  was  to  be  her  hostess  that 
afternoon.  She  resolved  to  ask  her  plainly  if  she  had 
done  something  not  usual  and  not  approved. 


29 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  EMPEROR. 

Barbara's  hostess  at  the  afternoon  tea  was  a  junior 
and  one  of  the  most  popular  women  in  the  University. 
Her  room  was  eloquent  of  this  popularity.  Barbara 
wondered  how  study  could  be  possible  in  such  surround- 
ings. The  hard  daylight  was  softened  by  sash  curtains 
of  dull  yellow  silk,  and  window  draperies  of  Persian 
stuffs.  Divans  covered  with  rugs  and  heaped  with  cush- 
ions filled  up  the  corners.  The  walls  were  hung  with 
photographs  of  the  campus,  of  the  crews,  of  the  teams, 
of  the  class.  Flags  and  cotillon  favors  were  prominent. 
A  tea-table  bearing  tiny  cups  of  pretentious  china,  sil- 
ver candlesticks  with  pink-shaded  candles  and  a  bowl  of 
violets  was  placed  near  one  of  the  divans. 

The  hostess,  Helena  Dare,  the  "Emperor,"  as  her 
friends  called  her,  presided  over  the  tea-table.  She  in- 
troduced Barbara  to  the  other  members  of  the  frater- 
nity, who  studied  her  as  they  talked  to  her.  After  an 
interval  some  one  piloted  her  to  a  divan  and  piled  cush- 
ions at  her  back.  To  the  practiced  eye  of  her  hostess 
Barbara  suffered  no  disadvantage  from  comparison  with 
the  other  young  girls  upon  show.  The  modernity  of  the 
room  emphasized  a  certain  quaintness  in  her  appearance, 
which,  so  far  from  being  rustic,  witnessed  to  an  aris- 
tocratic seclusion  from  the  world.  The  simplicity  of 
her  bearing,  added  to  an  indifference  quite  discernible 
in  her  attitude,  might  if  brought  to  the  proper  pitch 
form  the  essence  of  a  society  manner.     The  Emperor, 

30 


THE    EMPEROR 

accustomed  to  the  nervous  shyness  of  the  average  fresh- 
man, was  amused  and  challenged  by  this  new  type. 

Barbara,  on  her  part,  was  attracted  by  her  hostess's 
ease  and  grace.  She  stole  glances  at  her  from  time  to 
time  until  she  had  made  a  mental  picture  of  her  physical 
characteristics.  The  Emperor  was  of  a  tall,  graceful 
figure.  Her  hair  and  large,  impenetrable  eyes  were 
dark,  her  face  rounded,  her  features  strong  rather  than 
delicate,  her  skin  clear  and  pale.  Her  face  had  a  curious 
sameness  of  expression,  as  if  she  wore  a  mask.  She  bore 
herself  with  a  certain  imperiousness  which  marked  the 
leader,  but  she  knew  how  to  be  gracious. 

A  younger  girl,  who  introduced  herself  as  Elizabeth 
King,  brought  Barbara  a  cup  of  tea  and  then  sat  down 
beside  her. 

' '  How  do  you  like  Hallworth  1 ' '  she  asked,  smiling. 

"  It  is  a  very  big  place.  I  suppose  one  can  only  know 
it  gradually.  I  think  I  shall  like  it,"  she  answered,  not 
wishing  to  commit  herself  until  she  had  attained  the 
proper  pitch  of  enthusiasm. 

"Oh,  you  will  like  it,  and  you  are  fortunate  in 
being  a  ward  of  the  Faculty,  so  to  speak.  Have  you 
known  Dr.  Penfold  long?" 

4 '  I  never  met  him  until  I  came  here. ' ' 

"He's  an  old  darling,  lives  in  the  clouds,  forgets  to 
eat  and  sleep,  doesn't  care  for  society— that's  a  pity,  you 
know,  for  he  could  take  you  to  Faculty  functions." 

"I  shall  not— go  out  much  this  year." 

Elizabeth  touched  Barbara's  hand  softly. 

"Of  course  not,"  she  said,  "your  loss  is  too  recent. 
Forgive  me."  There  was  something  dainty,  gentle  and 
caressing  in  her  manner. 

3  31 


THE   LAW    OF    LIFE 

Barbara  was  becoming  aware  of  her  exceeding  pret- 
tiness.  She  had  abundant,  fair,  brown  hair,  darker 
brows,  and  blue  eyes  of  forget-me-not  hue.  Her  self- 
possession  was  not  a  kind  which  embarrasses  other  peo- 
ple. 

"Have  you  met  Dr.  Penf old's  fellow,  Mr.  Waring V 
she  asked. 

"Yes;  do  you  know  him?" 

"No,  but  my  sister  did.  He's  one  of  the  traditions 
of  Hallworth." 

"He  must  have  been  very  popular— from  what  I've 
heard." 

"Oh,  he  was— he  was  such  an  enigma,  you  know- 
one  of  those  non-committal  characters." 

Barbara  did  not  quite  understand,  but  she  said 
nothing.  She  was  not  only  astonished  by  the  ease  with 
which  these  young  girls  carried  on  a  conversation,  but 
puzzled  by  the  language  they  used.  They  seemed  to 
avoid  straightforward  and  explicit  statements.  Some  of 
the  terms  they  employed  were  unfamiliar,  as  of  a  re- 
fined and  esoteric  slang. 

Her  hostess  approached  her  after  a  time,  and  said 
in  a  low  voice: 

"Stay  after  the  others  go.  I  have  had  no  chance  to 
see  you,  and  I  should  like  a  little  chat  with  you." 

"I  shall  ask  her  about  this  morning,"  Barbara 
thought. 

Elizabeth  King  left  her  to  offer  tea  to  some  other 
guests.  A  certain  formality  seemed  the  ruling  spirit  of 
the  occasion.  College  girls  who  have  become  socially 
self-conscious  are,  as  a  rule,  extremely  conventional. 
The  women  of  Hallworth,  having  passed  through  the 

32 


THE    EMPEROR 

eccentric  period,  as  vestals  of  the  higher  education,  were 
now  eager  to  emphasize  the  fact  that  they  were  women 
of  the  world  first  and  students  afterward.  Their  four 
fraternities,  the  storm-centers  of  social  aspirations,  had 
for  their  avowed  objects  to  set  the  example  of  dressing 
in  the  mode,  to  curb  originality  and  to  mold  freshmen 
into  girls  whose  clothes  and  conduct  would  be  irre- 
proachable from  a  social  standpoint.  At  this  afternoon 
tea,  to  which  none  but  promising  members  of  the  enter- 
ing class  had  been  invited,  the  work  of  regeneration  was 
already  being  begun.  The  fraternity's  representatives, 
with  suave  words  and  ineffable  little  marks  of  favor, 
were  wooing  susceptible  freshmen  over  cups  of  tea  and 
offerings  of  sugar  wafers.  Barbara,  watching  them, 
wondered  if  they  could  really  mean  all  they  said  and 
did. 

In  obedience  to  the  wish  of  her  hostess,  she  remained 
until  the  last  guest  had  taken  her  departure.  Then  the 
Emperor  took  a  seat  beside  her  and  poured  out  a  cup 
of  tea. 

"You  were  charming  to  wait  for  me.  You  must 
have  a  cup  of  tea  with  me.    Do  you  like  violets  1 ' ' 

She  drew  a  bunch  from  a  bowl,  dried  the  stems 
daintily  with  her  handkerchief,  and  leaning  over  Bar- 
bara, pinned  them  on  the  waist  of  her  dress.  Her  move- 
ments were  slow,  quiet  and  graceful,  her  manner  dis- 
tinguished by  that  personal  quality  which  gives  signifi- 
cance to  the  slightest  word  or  action.  Barbara  was 
perplexed.  This  handsome,  popular  girl  could  not  be 
so  suddenly  interested  in  her  for  her  own  sake.  She 
thought  of  Waring 's  jesting  prophecies.  Yet  the  friend- 
liness,  though   assumed,   was,   in   a   sense,   comforting. 

33 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

Since  her  uncle's  death  she  had  known  the  bleakness  of 
a  grief  unshared  by  others.  This  delicate  warmth  of 
attention  and  interest  made  her  feel  as  if  she  had 
stepped  for  a  moment  out  of  the  cold  and  windy  night 
into  a  sheltered  place.  She  leaned  back  against  the 
cushions  and  put  her  cheek  down  to  the  violets. 

"They  are  lovely,  but  it  seems  wrong  to  wear  them; 
they  die  so  soon." 

"I  like  to  watch  them  die,"  said  the  Emperor;  "I 
never  care  for  flowers  out  of  doors— only  in  my  rooms." 

"And  I  care  most  for  them  in  the  garden— with  the 
sun  upon  them." 

"You  have  lived  a  great  deal  in  the  open  air,"  her 
hostess  said. 

' '  Yes ;  how  did  you  know  J ' ' 

"You  are  natural  and  simple." 

Barbara  blushed.  She  was  not  accustomed  to  per- 
sonal remarks. 

"And  you  have  lived  a  good  deal  among  books,"  the 
Emperor  went  on,  stirring  her  tea,  her  dark  eyes  fixed 
on  her  guest's  face. 

"Yes." 

"And  you  know  them  better  than  you  do  people." 

Barbara  sat  up  straight  and  looked  uncomfortable. 

The  manner  of  her  hostess  changed  at  once. 

"I  imagine  that  when  one  is  very  young,  and  when 
one  is  very  old,  one  prefers  books  to  people— before  you 
know  much  of  life  and  after  you  know  it  all." 

Her  voice  was  caressing,  and  Barbara's  resentment 
faded. 

"I  have  always  led  a  very  quiet  life,"  she  said;  "I 
never  had  the  opportunity  to  meet  many  people. ' ' 

34 


THE    EMPEROR 

"But  you  will  here.  You  must  let  me  have  the 
pleasure  of  introducing  you. ' ' 

"Perhaps,"  Barbara  said,  feeling  a  vague  annoy- 
ance over  this  patronage  which  she  could  not  wholly 
understand,  and  then,  fearing  she  had  been  rude,  she 
added:  "You  see,  I  could  not  go  out  very  much  this 
year. ' ' 

The  Emperor  looked  amused.  She  was  not  accus- 
tomed to  refusals  from  freshmen,  especially  country- 
bred  freshmen.  The  sensation  which  Barbara's  indiffer- 
ence aroused  was  not  wholly  unpleasing  to  her.  She 
liked  to  overcome  difficulties. 

"When  you  know  me  better— of  course,"  she  said, 
gently,  "and  wish  it— but  only  unless  you  wish.  We 
ought  to  be  friends— I  too,"  she  paused,  "was  once  a 
freshman. ' ' 

"Is  it  such  a  crime  to  be  a  freshman ? ' '  Barbara  said, 
resenting  not  so  much  her  hostess's  words  as  the  cynical 
accent  in  them.  She  felt  quite  capable  at  that  moment 
of  taking  care  of  herself. 

' '  Ah,  no !  but  it  has  its  perils  at  Hallworth. ' ' 

"Perils?  I  cannot  see  them,"  Barbara  answered, 
her  tongue  suddenly  loosened.  "One  comes  here,  one 
goes  to  class,  one  does  one's  work.  It  seems  very  sim- 
ple—to me." 

1  *  And  you  actually  think  that  is  all  of  it  ? "  her  host- 
ess said,  drawing  a  rose  from  a  bowl  and  passing  it  and 
repassing  it  across  her  lips.  "There  is  the  social  life — 
the  dances." 

"I  do  not  dance." 

"The  receptions— the  plays,"  the  Emperor  went  on, 
not    noticing    the    interruption,    "the    class    functions. 

35 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

You  are  one  of  a  class,  you  know,  and  you  have  duties 
and  obligations.  Hallworth  is,  in  a  sense,  at  your 
mercy. ' ' 

"I  should  think  one  could  best  serve  Hallworth.  by 
working  hard." 

The  Emperor  smiled. 

"But  we  don't  cease  to  be  men  and  women  when  we 
come,  and  the  professors  are  human." 

Barbara  sat  up  straight,  as  she  always  did  when  she 
was  thinking.  This  conversation,  so  in  accord  with  the 
strange  impressions  of  the  entire  day,  was  opening  a 
new  world  to  her.  A  backward  light  was  thrown  upon 
her  experience  in  the  lecture-room. 

"Tell  me,"  she  said  slowly,  "why  did  they  scowl  at 
me  for  my  translation  of  Virgil  this  morning?  And 
why  did  you  smile  1 ' ' 

The  Emperor  tore  off  a  rose-petal. 

"Did  you  see  me  smile?  The  translation  was  bril- 
liant, so  brilliant  as  to  be  conspicuous— and  we  avoid 
that  here." 

"But  I  did  not  mean  it  to  be  brilliant— only  true." 

"  No ;  but  it  is  our  policy  to  hide  our  cleverness,  like 
a  rapier  under  chiffon  ruffles.  We  have  more  power  so, 
without  the  men  suspecting  it." 

"It  is  for  their  benefit,  then ! ' ' 

"You  must  take  them  into  account,  you  know.  You 
will  have  to,  sooner  or  later  in  your  life." 

The  soft,  amused  voice,  with  its  ironical  accent, 
stirred  Barbara  even  more  than  the  words.  She  turned 
her  face  away  lest  the  sensation  of  tears  should  sud- 
denly become  visible.  She  wanted  to  rise  and  go,  but 
she  did  not  know  how. 

36 


THE    EMPEROR 

"We  all  saw  your  soul  this  morning,"  her  hostess 
went  on,  putting  into  her  voice  delicate,  caressing  in- 
flections; "a  beautiful  soul,  tender,  white,  untried,  full 
of  poetic  enthusiasm — much  too  fine  and  true  to  be 
exposed  to  the  gaze  of  those  cubs.  You  see  what  I 
mean ! " 

"I  was  not  thinking  of  them,"  Barbara  said,  bro- 
kenly. 

"I  know,"  the  Emperor  said,  with  a  gentleness  which 
the  younger  girl  found  hard  to  resist.  Fearing  she 
knew  not  what  self -revelation,  she  still  kept  her  face 
turned  away. 

The  Emperor  took  her  hands. 

' '  Won 't  you  look  at  me  ?    Ah,  I  have  hurt  you ! ' ' 

"No." 

"No?" 

For  answer  again,  Barbara  rose  to  her  feet.  Her 
hostess  leaned  back  among  the  cushions,  and  regarded 
her  with  a  look  of  amusement,  not  wholly  unsympa- 
thetic. 

"You  will  come  to  see  me  again?"  she  said. 

"Thank  you,"  Barbara  answered;  then  she  added 
with  dignity :  "  I  thank  you  for  telling  me  these  things. 
I  should  not  wish  to  make  mistakes. ' ' 

The  Emperor  smiled. 

"May  I  hope  you  will  come  again?— because  I've 
hurt  you! — however  unwillingly." 

Her  voice  thrilled  Barbara.  The  younger  girl  had 
never  heard  a  voice  quite  like  it  in  its  suggestion  of  mys- 
tery. 

"Because  you  have  hurt  me!"  she  answered,  her 
eyes  wide  with  astonishment. 

37 


THE    LAW    OF    LIFE 

"Why  not!  It  is  one  of  our  strange  human  ways— 
and  how  shall  I  know  that  you  forgive  me— unless  you 
return ! ' ' 

Her  dark  eyes  were  roguish.  Barbara  suddenly  felt 
very  young,  and  small  and  helpless.  The  mockery  of 
her  hostess's  manner  was  as  intangible  as  a  faint  per- 
fume. 

' '  There  is  nothing  to  forgive, ' '  she  said ;  ' '  that  is,  if 
I  needed  the  lesson." 

The  Emperor  fingered  the  petals  in  her  lap.  She  had 
picked  the  rose  to  pieces. 

When  Barbara  left  her  hostess  a  weight  of  self-con- 
sciousness was  heavy  upon  her.  Their  conversation  had 
aroused  certain  questions  in  her  mind,  as  strange  as  they 
seemed  unanswerable.  That  she  should  have  duties  and 
obligations  toward  a  large  number  of  people  was  a  new 
idea  to  her.  By  training,  and,  to  a  degree,  by  tempera- 
ment, she  belonged  to  that  class  of  persons  who  shrink 
from  the  gregarious  mode  of  existence,  preferring  the 
detachments  of  the  individual  life.  But  though  a  soli- 
tary soul,  she  was  too  human  not  to  wish  to  please  those 
with  whom  she  was  to  be  thrown  daily.  She  was  not  at 
all  sure,  however,  that  she  knew  how  to  do  what  was  ex- 
pected of  her. 

That  same  night  she  was  endeavoring  to  forget  her 
bewilderments  in  study  when  a  light  knock  came  at  her 
door,  and  the  Emperor  herself  entered,  gorgeous  as  a 
tropical  flower  in  a  gown  of  red.  She  was  at  Barbara's 
side  in  a  moment  with  a  hand  laid  gently  on  her  shoul- 
der. 

"No,  don't  get  up.  I  see  you're  deep  in  Greek.  Will 
you  go  with  me  to  the  football- match  to-morrow?" 

38 


THE    EMPEROR 

"lam  going  with  Mr.  Waring,"  Barbara  said  liter- 
ally.   "He  invited  me  last  week." 

The  Emperor  fixed  her  big,  black  eyes  steadily  a  mo: 
ment  on  the  younger  girl's  face."  * 

1  -  You  know  Mr.  Waring,  then ! ' ' 

"I  met  him  at  my  guardian's." 

"lain  sorry  I  am  too  late.  I  should  have  asked  you 
last  week.  But  you  don't  suggest  football,  only  things 
poetical  and  mystic." 

She  lifted  a  stray  lock  from  Barbara's  forehead  with 
the  lightest  possible  touch. 

1 '  Are  you  going  to  like  us  here  ? ' ' 

"I  want  to." 

"Ah,  that  is  good!— that  is  a  long  step  in  the  right 
direction.  We  feel  that  it  is  quite  imperative  that  you 
should  like  us." 

Barbara  wondered.  Was  this  strange  girl  laughing 
at  her  again?    But  the  Emperor  looked  serious. 

"You'll  have  to  like  us  before  you  can  like  Hall- 
worth!  We  are  Hallworth,  you  know;  or  at  least  one 
half  of  it." 

"What's  the  other  half?" 

"The  Faculty." 

"I  don't  know  where  to  begin  in  my  liking,"  Bar- 
bara said,  helplessly,  "it's  all  so  big!" 

"Begin  with  me,"  said  the  Emperor.  Then  she 
swept  out  of  the  room,  leaving  a  trail  of  faint  laughter 
behind  her. 


39 


CHAPTER    V. 

THE  WORLD  OF  YOUTH. 

Barbara  greeted  Waring  next  day  with  a  friendli- 
ness which  reconciled  him  to  her  quaint  appearance. 
She  flushed  with  pleasure  when  he  handed  her  a  bunch 
of  violets  tied  up  with  the  Hallworth  colors,  white  and 
green.  The  novelty  of  this  world  into  which  she  had 
been  ushered  was  beginning  to  stir  her  blood. 

On  the  way  to  Washington  Field,  the  official  play- 
ground of  the  University,  he  interpreted  certain  mys- 
teries to  her.  For  the  past  fifteen  years  Hallworth  had 
been  pushing  its  way  to  the  front  in  athletics,  biding  its 
time,  and  bearing  with  more  or  less  composure  the 
sneers  of  Harvard  and  Yale  against  an  "agricultural, 
one-horse  college."  Now  Hallworth  had  overtaken  these 
formidable  rivals.  The  football  and  baseball  teams  were 
in  the  first  rank,  and  the  crew  itself  was  "ahead  of  the 
first,"  as  Waring  expressed  it.  For  the  welfare  of  the 
crew,  he  gravely  explained,  the  students  would  rejoice 
to  make  a  holocaust  of  the  whole  University,  including 
the  famous  Dante  collection.  The  coach,  Hudnut,  a  man 
of  infinite  patience  and  tried  skill,  resembled  Fra  An- 
gelico's  saints  in  that  he  was  perpetually  clothed  in  a 
nimbus  of  glory.  Presidents  might  come  and  go,  profes- 
sorial chairs  might  totter,  and  the  citadels  of  learning 
reel  to  their  fall,  but  Hudnut  survived  all  shocks  of 
fortune. 

"Yale  and  Harvard  are  pricking  up  their  ears," 
40 


THE    WORLD    OF    YOUTH 

Waring  said  to  Barbara.  ' '  They  are  watching  Hall- 
worth  as  a  terrier  does  a  rat. ' ' 

Barbara  made  no  comment  on  this  intellectual  exer- 
cise of  two  great  universities.  She  was  more  interested 
in  Waring  himself.  She  would  have  liked  to  question 
him;  to  know  just  what  he  thought  on  a  variety  of  sub- 
jects. 

He  was  interrupted  by  their  changing  cars.  A  num- 
ber of  trolleys  stood  at  the  junction,  packed  with  peo- 
ple on  their  way  to  the  Field.  From  the  platforms 
slim,  tanned  youths  in  sweaters  hung  gracefully.  They 
cried  "Hall-Hall-Hall— I  call— I  call— I  call  Hall- 
worth,"  at  intervals,  and  some  of  them  further  relieved 
their  feelings  by  pounding  each  other.  Though  the  ma- 
jority of  them  belonged  to  the  genus  cub,  they  displayed 
beneath  their  college  manner  the  characteristics  of  the 
great  American  middle  class,  its  independence,  its  dem- 
ocratic ease,  its  keen  sense  of  humor,  its  brisk,  business- 
like attention  to  the  affair  of  the  moment;  and  under 
its  surface-enthusiasm,  its  nonchalance,  its  well-nigh 
Olympian  indifference. 

"Everybody  goes,"  Waring  said  to  Barbara,  as  he 
tucked  her  into  a  corner  of  the  platform.  "Even  the 
Wife  of  the  Faculty." 

Some  one,  recognizing  him  as  a  quondam  hero  of  the 
football  team,  inquired  in  hoarse  tones  what  was  the 
matter  with  Waring,  upon  which  a  score  of  lusty  throats 
roared  out  that  he  was  all  right.  Barbara  felt  a  certain 
pride  of  him  stir  within  her,  as  of  some  comrade  who 
had  earned  honors. 

The  car  soon  left  the  town  behind  and  entered  flat, 
green,  spongy  meadows.     In  the  distance  the  lake  ap- 

41 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

peared  to  be  brimming  over.  To  Waring,  Washington 
Field  swarmed  with  ghosts.  He  remembered  great 
games  of  old  and  sighed  over  the  mutability  of  fame. 

"Where  are  the  teams  of  yester-year?"  he  said 
whimsically,  as  he  guided  Barbara  to  her  seat.  She  was 
looking  at  the  scene  before  her,  with  eager,  unaccustomed 
eyes.  The  grand  stand  was  bright  with  women  and 
flags.  On  the  huge  oval  the  rival  teams  were  going 
through  preliminary  exercises. 

1 '  It  makes  me  think  of  the  jousts, ' '  she  said. 

' '  But  imagine  Lancelot  and  Percival  in  sweaters ! ' ' 

Barbara  recognized  some  of  the  girls  she  had  met 
at  the  tea.  The  Emperor,  looking  gallant  in  a  red  jacket 
and  a  round,  black  hat  with  pompons,  tipped  over  one 
ear,  had  four  men  about  her,  and,  to  judge  from  their 
expressions,  they  were  being  Well  entertained.  She 
smiled  at  Barbara,  and  then  nodded  to  Waring. 

"You  have  met  Miss  Dare?"  he  said;  "already!" 

"Yes,  she  asked  me  to  her  afternoon  tea—yester- 
day." 

"Do  you  like  her?"  Waring  said,  with  a  look  of 
amusement  in  his  face. 

Barbara  flushed. 

"She  is— strange,"  she  faltered. 

"I  met  her  in  New  York  last  winter.  She  is  a  very 
good  type  of  a  certain  kind  of  college  woman.  Are  you 
going  to  join  her  fraternity?"  he  added,  smiling. 

"She  has  not  asked  me  yet  and  I  don't  think  she 
will,"  Barbara  said  simply. 

Waring  laughed. 

1 '  Don 't  let  them  hypnotize  you, ' '  he  said.  ' '  They  are 
not  the  whole  of  Hallworth." 

42 


THE    WORLD    OF    YOUTH 

He  seemed  to  understand  without  her  speaking  and 
she  was  grateful. 

''Haven't  you  outgrown  football?"  said  a  clear, 
mocking  voice  behind  them. 

Waring  turned  and  saw  Allaire.  Her  golf-cape  was 
drawn  closely  up  to  her  little  square  chin,  and  its  red 
peaked  hood,  framing  her  face,  emphasized  its  paleness. 

"I  am  here  in  the  character  of  the  aged  and  infirm, 
a  fearful  warning  to  youth  and  enthusiasm/'  he  an- 
swered, gaily.  Then  he  introduced  Allaire  to  Bar- 
bara. 

"I  hope  you  like  football,  Miss  Dale,"  Allaire  said. 
"We  are  very  enterprising  and  thorough  here.  Nothing 
short  of  life-blood  satisfies  us.  The  ambulances  are  wait- 
ing outside." 

"I  have  never  seen  a  game,"  Barbara  said. 

"The  University  encourages  it  to  keep  down  the 
number  of  students, ' '  said  Waring. 

Barbara  wondered  if  she  would  ever  get  used  to  their 
strange  way  of  talking.    It  made  her  dumb. 

"This  is  your  first  year,  is  it  not,  Miss  Dale?"  Al- 
laire asked. 

1 '  Yes,  I  have  just  entered. ' ' 

"What  do  you  think  of  Hallworth?" 

"It's  big." 

"Do  you  like  it?" 

"It  is  like  a  play.    It  amuses  me. ' ' 

Allaire  and  Waring  laughed. 

"They  would  never  forgive  her— would  they?"  Al- 
laire said. 

Barbara  looked  apologetic. 

"I  like  it,"  she  said  earnestly.  "It  is  strange  to  me 
43 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

— that  is  what  I  mean,  and  strange  things  are  entertain- 
ing." 

"It  is  like  a  play/'  said  Waring;  "comedy  mostly— 
tragedy  sometimes." 

On  the  field  the  teams  were  now  taking  their  posi- 
tion. Their  own  mothers  would  scarcely  have  recog- 
nized these  their  gallant  sons,  with  their  forms  padded, 
as  in  prophecy  of  disaster.  When  Griggs  appeared  the 
grand  stand  rocked  with  cheers. 

"Look  well  upon  our  idol,"  Waring  said.  "You 
behold  a  great  man— though  patched !  He  has  had  three 
ribs  broken  once,  a  collar-bone  twice,  the  left  leg  twice 
and  the  right  once— and  concussion  of  the  brain,  be- 
sides. ' ' 

"How  does  he  ever  study?"  Barbara  inquired. 

"Most  of  Griggs's  course  has  been  spent  in  the  Uni- 
versity hospital.  It  was  founded  and  endowed  for  the 
benefit  of  the  football  team.  Occasionally  a  nervous 
prostration  patient  from  the  crew  is  admitted.  You  may 
not  know,"  he  added,  "that  our  coach  receives  a  higher 
salary  than  most  of  the  professors." 

"I  wish  I  were  the  daughter  of  the  coach  instead  of 
a  mere  professor,"  Allaire  said.  "I  should  then  have 
more  than  one  party-gown  a  winter." 

In  spite  of  Waring 's  elaborate  explanations,  Bar- 
bara found  herself  in  a  state  of  bewilderment  when  she 
attempted  to  follow  the  movements  of  the  game.  Her 
heart  failed  to  leap  when  a  great  leather  ball  went  fly- 
ing through  the  air  and  a  roar  of  agitation  shook  the 
grand  stand.  What  followed  seemed  a  series  of  con- 
fusions, of  alarms  and  excursions,  involving  misguided 
youth  and  bringing  disaster  upon  them.     As  the  game 

44 


THE   WORLD    OF   YOUTH 

progressed  tremulous,  apprehensive  sympathy  for  the 
under  man  took  the  place  of  her  impersonal  feeling. 
There  was  always  an  under  man,  and  he  was  always  in 
danger  of  death  from  a  variety  of  causes.  Sometimes 
four,  sometimes  six  men  bore  him  down.  Once  she 
counted  nine,  and  then  turned  away  her  face— lest  some- 
thing shapeless  should  be  found  on  the  ground  after- 
ward. 

"Is  it  always  like  this?"  she  said  to  Waring,  anx- 
iously. 

"Well,  not  always  as  bad  as  this,"  he  assured  her. 
"Don't  think  of  their  ribs,"  he  added,  smiling,  "think 
of  the  glory  of  Hallworth ! ' ' 

Barbara  wondered  and  was  mute.  But  she  cried  out 
when  she  saw  a  man  being  carried  off  the  field. 

"He  has  only  fainted,"  Waring  said. 

"But  he  doesn't  come  to— and  they're  dashing  water 
in  his  face. ' ' 

Waring  watched  them  a  moment,  then  he  rose. 

"That  looks  like  bad  business,"  he  said,  gravely. 
"If  you'll  excuse  me,  I'll  go  and  see  what  the  trou- 
ble is." 

Barbara  turned  to  Allaire. 

' '  Why  does  the  game  go  on  f    He  may  be  dead ! ' ' 

"The  game  always  goes  on,"  Allaire  said,  dryly. 
"Only  an  earthquake  could  stop  it." 

"Do  you  like  it?"  Barbara  said,  drawing  her  brows 
together.    "Doesn't  it  spoil  it  for  you— all  this?" 

Allaire  smiled. 

"I  don't  know.  It's  the  liveliest  thing  in  Hallworth. 
I  should  prefer  it  to  a  Faculty  meeting.  You  see,"  she 
went  on,  "I  was  born  in  Hallworth,  and  it  all  bores  me 

45 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

more  or  less.    I  have  seen  so  much  of  it,  over  and  over, 
year  in  and  year  out. ' ' 

Waring  came  back  then.  His  face  was  serious.  He 
did  not  look  at  Barbara,  but  at  Allaire  as  he  spoke. 

"He  is  injured  internally— the  spine,  they  think." 

Barbara  grew  pale. 

Waring  bent  over  her. 

1 '  Do  you  want  to  see  it  out  ? "  he  said  in  a  low  voice, 
"or  shall  we  go  for  a  walk  to  the  lake." 

"The  lake,  please." 

As  she  rose  Allaire  slipped  her  hand  in  hers. 

"I  like  you,"  she  said.    "May  I  come  to  see  you?" 

Barbara  flushed  with  pleasure. 

"I  want  you  very  much,"  she  answered.  Allaire's 
bored,  detached  manner  was  more  intelligible  to  her  than 
the  enthusiasms  of  the  students. 

Once  off  the  field  Waring  turned  to  her  with  an 
expression  of  concern. 

"You  probably  think  we're  savages  here.  I  didn't 
mean  to  give  you  a  bad  afternoon." 

"It  wasn't  a  bad  afternoon,  but  I  like  this  better," 
she  said  frankly.  Then  after  a  pause  she  added,  "I 
couldn't  help  thinking  of  his  mother— the  mother  of  the 
man  who  was  hurt." 

"Let's  hope  he  hasn't  any.  WVre  lucky  who  have 
no  parents.  At  least,  then,  all  our  sins  and  mishaps  are 
on  our  own  heads  and  don't  worry  anybody  else." 

' '  Have  you  no  parents  1 ' '  Barbara  asked  gently. 

"My  mother  died  when  I  was  born.  My  father  six 
years  ago." 

"Mine  died  when  I  was  very  little.  My  uncle  took 
their  place." 

46 


THE    WORLD    OF    YOUTH 

"Was  he  beautiful  and  stately  like  the  style  of  his 
history  V 

"Yes,  I  suppose  he  was.  To  me  he  was  just  Uncle 
Robert." 

"And  you  lived  all  your  life  with  him?" 

"Yes;  he  brought  me  up,  and  when  I  was  old  enough 
I  took  care  of  his  house.  You  see,"  she  added,  "that  is 
why  Hallworth  seems  so  big  and  crowded  to  me.  We 
lived  such  a  quiet  life.  The  homestead'  was  two  miles 
from  the  village,  and  over  a  hundred  miles  from  any 
large  town." 

* '  Ideal  for  study. ' ' 

She  smiled. 

"I  suppose  it  was  not  a  very  good  preparation  for 
this  life." 

1 '  Were  you  never  lonely  I ' ' 

"No;  I  had  too  much  to  do,  a  house  to  see  to  and  a 
garden  to  tend,  besides  my  studies.  And  we  did  have 
people  sometimes,  though  they  were  generally  my  uncle 's 
friendg. ' ' 

She  was  walking  by  Waring 's  side  with  the  quick, 
sure  step  of  one  accustomed  to  long  rambles.  The  wind 
brought  the  color  to  her  cheeks  and  loosened  the  hair 
about  her  face.  With  her  head  thrown  back,  revealing 
her  full,  white  throat,  she  looked  like  a  young  boy. 
Something  sexless,  impersonal  in  her  manner  bore  out 
this  impression. 

When  they  came  suddenly  upon  the  lake,  emerging 
from  a  little  wood,  through  which  a  by-path  led,  she 
clasped  her  hands  in  silent  joy.  The  broad  sheet  of 
water,  deep  blue  under  the  afternoon  sky,  was  covered 
with  delicate  whitecaps.  The  hills  to  the  westward,  rich 
4  47 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

as  the  colors  of  a  Persian  rug,  slept  under  purple  vapors. 
The  clouds  of  sunset,  already  iridescent,  seemed  floating 
in  a  sea  of  gold. 

At  a  little  landing-place  boats  were  moored.  Bar- 
bara looked  at  them  longingly. 

"Can  you  row?"  Waring  asked. 

"Oh,  yes— very  well." 

Her  soul  was  in  her  eyes  as  she  gazed  far  out  over 
the  troubled  surface  of  the  lake. 

"Would  you  like  to  go?  I  have  a  boat  of  my  own 
here." 

1 '  Indeed,  yes ! ' ' 

He  hesitated. 

"It  is  rough  this  afternoon!  Are  you  sure  you 
wouldn't  be  afraid?    It  is  not  like  a  river,  you  know." 

"Afraid!" 

She  laughed  and  ran  on  ahead  of  him  down  the  land- 
ing. Waring  looked  after  her  with  some  astonishment. 
He  had  not  suspected  that  she  had  so  much  vitality  in 
her. 

"Let  me  row,"  she  said.  "You  don't  know  how  well 
I  can  do  it!"  She  held  out  her  slender  arms.  "They 
look  weak,  but  they're  strong  as  steel." 

"I  would  rather  row  you.  Besides,  you  are  not  ac- 
customed to  lake  rowing. ' ' 

"But  I  know  the  technique,"  she  said,  as  one  who 
would  have  her  way. 

Waring  looked  at  her  critically. 

"Can  you  swim?" 

"Yes." 

"A  mistake  would  mean  danger  for  both  of  us." 

' '  You  can  trust  me. ' ' 

48 


THE    WORLD    OF   YOUTH 

A  few  minutes  later  they  were  out  on  the  broad  sur- 
face. Waring  saw  that  he  had  done  well  to  trust  her. 
She  handled  the  oars  with  a  strength  and  skill  that  kept 
the  boat  true  and  sent  it  flying  across  the  waves  like  a 
live  thing.  She  herself  seemed  brightened  and  ener- 
gized, as  if  by  a  bath  of  light.  Waring,  still  full  of 
wonder  at  this  change  in  her,  thought  her  response  to 
nature  beautiful.  Something  elemental  seemed  aroused 
in  this  quiet,  reserved  girl  by  sun  and  wind  and  sky. 
Would  she  love,  he  wondered,  with  the  same  strength 
and  simplicity  when  her  time  for  loving  came?  That 
she  had  not  loved  many  signs  told  him,  among  them  this 
primitive  passion  for  nature.  After  a  time  nature  would 
go  back  to  its  place.  She  would  see  landscapes  but  not 
visions.  The  thought  came  to  him  gazing  at  Barbara, 
and  past  her  into  his  own  dream-world,  that  if  Corot 
had  ever  really  grown  up,  his  paintings  would  have  lost 
their  enchanted  light. 

He  did  not  misread  Barbara  in  this  respect.  To  her, 
as  to  the  race  in  its  childhood,  spirits  of  life  were  borne 
down  the  winds  and  mingled  with  the  shining  of  the 
waves.  The  first  joy  she  had  known  since  her  uncle's 
death  thrilled  her  and  brought  her  for  the  time  wholly 
out  of  the  past.  Guided  by  Waring 's  hand  on  the  rud- 
der, the  little  boat  swept  toward  the  wide  gold  realms 
of  sunset.  She  turned  onCe  to  see  their  direction,  and 
her  eyes,  fixed  on  that  splendor  of  the  west,  brightened 
with  a  look  he  never  forgot— of  joyous  recognition.  She 
bent  again  to  her  oars.  For  a  brief  moment  the  prow  of 
the  little  boat  was  headed  toward  the  Islands  of  the 
Blest. 


49 


CHAPTER   VI. 


The  next  morning  Waring  received  a  note  from  Dr. 
Penfold  asking  him  to  take  one  of  his  classes,  as  he  him- 
self was  confined  to  the  house  with  a  severe  cold. 

The  lecture-room  was  in  Sterne  Hall.  Waring,  with 
his  bundle  of  morning  papers,  went  directly  there  after 
breakfasting,  for  the  lecture-hour  was  early.  It  was  his 
first  experience  of  the  kind,  so  he  seated  himself  judi- 
cially on  the  platform  behind  the  great  desk,  to  become 
accustomed  by  degrees  to  the  novel  sensation.  He  im- 
agined an  audience  ranged  in  the  seats,  young  girls  ex- 
changing whispers  while  they  looked  him  calmly  over, 
and  uncompromising  boys,  a  formidable  little  army  now 
scattered  over  the  campus,  but  soon  to  march  in  upon 
him,  presenting  themselves  to  be  educated  and  looking  to 
him  for  all  the  responsibility  in  the  matter.  He  grew  cold 
at  the  thought  and  opened  one  of  his  papers  as  a  diver- 
sion. The  first  thing  that  caught  his  eye  was  an  editorial 
on  a  diplomatic  event  of  wide  significance.  He  read  it 
with  growing  interest,  finding  that  the  opinions  of  the 
editor  carried  out  and  clarified  his -own. 

He  became  aware,  at  last,  that  the  class  was  assem- 
bling, then  that  the  hour  had  struck.  His  absorption  in 
the  political  question  had  completely  relieved  him  of  his 
embarrassment.  When  the  upturned,  silent  faces  re- 
minded him  that  he  was  expected  to  say  something, 
mathematics  seemed  trifling  in  comparison  to  the  subject 

50 


"A    STATESMAN    AND    A    SCHOLAR' ' 

which  filled  his  mind.  He  folded  the  paper,  opened  the 
class-book  and  ran  his  eye  down  the  list  of  names.  He 
chose  one  at  random. 

''Mr.  Walker,  will  you  kindly  tell  me  if  you  have 
any  views  on  the  present  difficulty  of  this  country  and 
Russia?" 

A  cheerful-faced  boy  gave  a  gasp  of  astonishment, 
then  said: 

' '  I  beg  pardon,  sir,  but  are  they  scrapping  ? ' ' 

Waring  knit  his  brows. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  you  are  ignorant  of  the 
matter?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

Waring  opened  the  class-book  again. 

"I'm  going  to  call  the  roll,"  he  said.  "In  answer- 
ing to  your  names  kindly  state  whether  you  know  any- 
thing whatever  about  the  difficulty  between  this  country 
and  Russia,  precipitated  last  Friday." 

The  class  held  its  breath.  Waring  went  slowly  down 
the  roll.  Out  of  a  class  of  forty-eight  just  seven  knew 
something  of  the  uppermost  political  topic  of  the  hour. 
Five  of  the  seven  were  women. 

"I  think  I'll  enlighten  you,"  he  said,  closing  the 
book  again.  "Dr.  Penfold  is  temporarily  housed  with  a 
cold.  We  will  have  politics  before  mathematics  this 
morning. ' ' 

The  class,  regarding  him  with  loving  looks,  shut  their 
text-books  as  if  they  never  intended  to  open  them  again 
in  this  world.  Waring  launched  into  his  subject  with  an 
enthusiasm  which  he  did  not  realize  until  a  sudden  ap- 
plause burst  from  the  class.  When  it  had  ceased  he  said 
gravely : 

51 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

"Now,  do  you  see  what  I  mean;  why  you  should 
study  these  things  for  yourselves?  You  are  the  chil- 
dren of  Hallworth,  and  Hallworth  exists  for  the  nation. 
She  cannot  do  her  work  for  the  nation,  this  Alma  Mater 
of  yours,  unless  she  has  your  intelligent  patriotism  to 
rely  on. ' ' 

The  cheerful-faced  boy  rose  to  his  feet. 

"Will  you  please  tell  us,  sir,  what  you  think  on  the 
Venezuelan  question  f ' ' 

Waring  looked  at  the  youngster,  then  at  his  watch. 
An  amused  smile  spread  over  his  face. 

"Not  this  morning,  Mr.  Walker.  It  is  a  complex  sub- 
ject and  we  have  only  fifteen  minutes.  You  will  kindly 
step  to  the  board  and  work  out  this  theorem  for  the 
benefit  of  the  class." 

In  the  evening  Waring  went  to  inquire  for  Dr.  Pen- 
fold.  He  found  him  in  his  study  nursing  a  heavy  cold 
and  amusing  himself,  as  he  expressed  it,  "with  a  little 
problem. ' ' 

"Barbara  has  just  left  me,"  he  said;  "it  is  the  first 
time  in  my  adult  life,  Waring,  that  I  have  had  feminine 
ministrations  other  than  those  of  Mehitabel.  It  took  the 
form  of  something  hot— and  I  must  confess  comforting 
to  my  throat.    She  made  it  herself. ' ' 

Waring  laughed. 

"I  am  happy,  dear  Doctor,  that  she  has  been  ap- 
pointed your  guardian." 

"  I  am  afraid  we  will  reverse  situations.  I  have  never 
quite  understood  why  Dale  appointed  me.  But  I  think 
he  wanted  her  to  go  to  college,  to  meet  young  people. 
In  the  last  letter  he  ever  wrote  to  me  he  said:  'I  am 

52 


"A    STATESMAN   AND   A    SCHOLAR' ' 

afraid  I  have  kept  her  too  much  to  myself,  but  she  is  all 
I  have.'    I  think  he  wanted  to  make  amends." 

"So  he  sends  her  to  a  place  where  she  is  likely  to  be 
miserable,"  Waring  said. 

Dr.  Penfold  knit  his  brows. 

"You  think  she  will  not  be  happy  here?" 

"I  don't  see  how  she  can,  brought  up  as  she  has 
been,  with  a  recluse,  a  scholarly  aristocrat  as  Robert 
Edgeworth  Dale  was  by  all  report.  From  what  she  tells 
me  she  has  led  the  most  quiet  life.  Hallworth  must 
seem  like  a  menagerie  to  her." 

"I  am  afraid  it  does.  Waring,  I  want  you  to  look 
out  for  her. ' ' 

"I'll  do  all  I  can,  but  I  pity  any  girl  tumbled  into 
that  women's  dormitory  with  only  aristocratic  weapons 
with  which  to  fight  her  way. ' ' 

Dr.  Penfold  smiled. 

"She  is  not  like  the  rest— is  she!  Even  I  can  see 
that.  I  should  like  to  have  brought  her  to  my  own 
house,  but  I  knew  that  was  not  what  her  uncle  wanted. 
It  would  have  been  in  a  way  a  repetition  of  her  old  life ; 
and  perhaps  it  will  be  better  for  her  in  the  end  to  be  at 
Stafford  Hall." 

1 '  She  will  never  be  of  it. ' ' 

"No,  and  probably  she  will  not  come  back  when  she 
has  come  of  age." 

Waring  knit  his  brows. 

"I  think  we  must  teach  her  to  like  Hallworth.  I 
should  like  to  see  her  graduate. ' ' 

After  leaving  Dr.  Penfold 's  Waring  had  intended  to 
make  other  calls,  but  the  desire  for  work  seized  him,  and 

53 


THE    LAW    OF    LIFE 

he  turned  his  steps  into  a  carriage-drive  which  led  from 
the  upper  avenue  to  a  large  stone  dwelling,  built  by  the 
first  president  of  Hallworth.  Though  for  years  he  had 
not  occupied  it,  being  absent  on  foreign  diplomatic  serv- 
ice, its  furniture,  its  art-treasures  and  the  rich  stores  of 
its  library  remained  as  a  kind  of  loan  to  the  University. 
Every  winter  it  was  occupied  by  bachelor  professors  and 
privileged  graduate  students,  whose  only  obligation  was 
to  keep  up  the  steam. 

Waring  let  himself  in  and  passed  through  the  long 
entrance-hall,  hung  with  paintings  and  lined  with  pedes- 
tals bearing  ghostly  busts  of  the  Roman  Emperors.  For 
the  one  nearest  the  library  door  he  had  an  especial  affec- 
tion, and  now  said  "Good-night,  old  fellow,"  touching 
for  a  moment  the  ponderous,  unwilling  head,  with  its 
stony  wreath  of  laurel.  On  the  first  landing  the  moon- 
light fell  through  a  stained  window  upon  the  drooping, 
beautiful  face  of  Antinous.  The  silence  of  the  great 
house,  a  silence  always  preserved  by  a  careful  selection 
of  its  inmates,  closed  in  upon  Waring  like  a  veil. 

But  his  plans  for  study  were  upset.  He  found  Dut- 
ton  in  his  room,  cozily  reading  between  the  low  lamp 
on  the  table  and  the  wood  fire  on  the  hearth,  his  feet 
buried  in  a  bearskin  rug. 

"When  you  spoke  of  your  sitting-room,  Waring,  I 
had  no  idea  that  you  were  living  in  a  tapestried  cham- 
ber—such magnificence ! ' ' 

' '  Sumptuous,  isn  't  it  ?  The  story  of  David  and  Bath- 
sheba  embroidered  on  the  walls  for  my  benefit.  Feverel 
found  those  in  Venice— seventeenth  century  work." 

' '  Where  do  you  sleep  ? ' ' 

"Just  next,"  Waring  said,  opening  a  door. 
54 


" A    STATESMAN    AND    A    SCHOLAR' ' 

Dutton  peered  in. 

1 '  Flemish  oak  and  brocades,  I  see.  Heavens !  What 
a  bed!" 

"I  don't  sleep  in  that  sarcophagus.  There's  an  iron 
cot  back  of  the  screen. ' ' 

Dutton  returned  to  his  chair. 

1 '  This  room  suits  you. ' ' 

"It's  a  tine  medieval  background  when  one  wants 
to  sit  up  late  and  pretend  one's  a  scholar." 

Waring  drew  a  chair  to  the  fire  and  handed  Dutton  a 
cigar. 

"Have  you  been  waiting  long?" 

"No,  only  a  few  minutes." 

The  two  men  smoked  in  silence  for  a  while.  No 
sound  broke  the  stillness  of  the  great  house  but  the  sol- 
emn ticking  of  a  tall  clock  in  the  passage  outside. 

"We're  very  quiet  here,"  Waring  said  at  length, 
nicking  the  ashes  from  the  end  of  his  cigar.  "Jenkins 
and  White,  each  is  working  on  a  book.  Mason  is  gen- 
erally at  the  library  until  eleven." 

"Do  you  dine  here?" 

"Yes.  Mason's  mother  is  with  him,  so  we  dine  en 
famille.  The  housekeeper  cooks,  and  her  son  is  butler- 
useful  man— valet— everything. ' ' 

' '  You  are  in  clover !    You  won 't  miss  New  York. ' ' 

"New  York,  as  a  grub  reporter,  was  hell  generally— 
'cold  common  hell'— to  quote  our  Shelley." 

"But  you  got  your  chance  in  the  war,"  Dutton  said, 
blowing  the  delicate  blue  rings  of  smoke  and  watching 
them  float  wreath-like  in  the  upper  twilight  of  the  room. 

' '  I  got  my  chance,  yes,  and  made  the  money  I  wanted 
to  make." 

55 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

"And  now?" 

"The  doctorate— and  a  professorship  without  the  in- 
termediate stages— if  possible." 

Button  looked  puzzled. 

"I  still  don't  quite  understand  why  you  came  back 
to  Hallworth  after  you'd  made  your  hit  as  a  war  corre- 
spondent. You  were  fairly  launched  on  your  career. 
What  made  you  give  it  up,  Waring ! ' ' 

Waring  smoked  in  silence  for  a  while,  then  he  said : 

"Perhaps  other  kinds  of  ambitions." 

"I  can't  imagine  you— just  a  scholar." 

Waring  drew  his  brows  together  in  a  slight  frown. 

"There's  something  wrong  with  the  whole  system  in 
this  country,"  he  said  slowly,  as  if  thinking  aloud.  "As 
if  a  university  career  necessarily  sidetracked  a  man, 
turned  him  into  a  kind  of  half-woman,  out  of  life  and 
other  men's  interests.  It  isn't  so  abroad.  Men  go  into 
Parliament  by  way  of  Oxford  and  Cambridge,  but 
precious  few  go  to  Congress  by  way  of  Harvard. ' ' 

Button's  face  lighted  with  sudden  comprehension. 

"You  want  to  be  a  public  man,  Waring,  and  you 
want  to  use  the  University  for  a  stepping-stone. ' ' 

Waring  laughed. 

"You  are  delightful,  Dutton.  Yes,  I  want  to  climb 
over  the  dead  bodies  of  the  Faculty— but  it's  true,  isn't 
it,  that  our  universities  don't  have  the  influence  on  pub- 
lic life  they  ought  to  have?  I'd  like  to  found  one  to 
train  young  men  for  public  service." 

"So  it  isn't  mathematics,  after  all?" 

"Anything  will  do  for  a  doctorate." 

Dutton  leaned  over  impulsively  and  placed  a  hand 
on  Waring 's  knee. 

56 


''A    STATESMAN   AND   A    SCHOLAR" 

"I  always  did  see  a  big  future  for  you.  But  for 
God's  sake,  don't  marry.    You'd  ruin  your  prospects." 

Waring  smiled. 

"I  haven't  any  as  yet  to  ruin.  Such  advice  from 
you,  Dutton,  of  all  persons!  You  abject  sentimental- 
ist!" 

"Ah,  but  I  shall  never  be  famous.  I  can  afford  to 
marry. ' ' 

"Will  it  be-Allaire?" 

"I  am  in  love  with  Mrs.  Maturin,"  Dutton  said 
gravely.  "Allaire  will  not  let  me  be  in  love  with  her — 
besides,  she  is  too  exquisite  for  the  likes  of  me.  I  should 
feel  like  a  day-laborer  owning  a  Botticelli." 

"Allaire  is  going  to  be  pleasant  to  Miss  Dale,  the 
ward  of  our  incomparable  Penfold.  We  are  forming  a 
conspiracy  to  make  her  like  Hallworth.  Will  you  join, 
Dutton?" 

"With  all  my  heart.  Are  you  president  of  this  con- 
spiracy, Waring?" 

"No;  I'm  only  looking  after  Miss  Dale,  while  she 
looks  after  her  guardian." 


57 


CHAPTER  VII. 

TWO  HOUSES. 

The  arrangement  of  the  campus  at  Hallworth  had 
not  been  without  its  influence  upon  the  social  life  of  the 
faculty.  The  majority  of  the  professors'  families  lived 
under  the  very  shadow  of  the  University  buildings,  their 
little  gardens  and  lawns  merging.  The  circle  was  there- 
fore bound  together  by  the  double  tie  of  community  of 
interest  and  of  neighborhood.  The  social  life,  kept  by 
circumstances  singularly  free  from  the  rivalries  of 
wealth,  reflected  in  many  of  its  phases  the  original  ideals 
of  the  nation,  the  plain  living  and  high  thinking  of  old 
New  England,  somewhat  modernized  and  softened  by 
rose-light  from  pink  candle-shades.  Aesthetic  luxuries 
of  richly  bound  books  and  rare  editions  were  freely  in- 
dulged in,  sometimes  at  cost  of  a  close  study  of  house- 
hold economics.  The  members  of  the  Faculty  had  the 
good  fortune,  becoming  rarer  and  rarer  in  American 
society,  of  living  within  certain  definite  limitations,  their 
salaries  of  from  three  to  six  thousand  a  year  precluding 
rivalries  except  on  intellectual  lines.  If  champagne  were 
out  of  the  question,  the  best  table  claret  was  within  reach 
of  all.  Waring  thought  he  saw  the  chief  corrective  to 
the  commercial  ideals  of  the  country,  not  alone  in  the 
intellectual  life  of  Hallworth  and  similar  institutions, 
but  in  their  social  life.  The  full  force  of  this  concep- 
tion was  impaired,  however,  by  the  whimsical  after- 
thought that  if  certain  American  citizens  had  not 
amassed  enormous  fortunes,  untroubled  by  the  ghosts  of 

58 


TWO    HOUSES 

Lexington,  many  of  these  institutions  would  never  have 
been  founded. 

The  provincialism  of  the  higher  culture  was  not  alto- 
gether absent  from  the  social  life  of  Hallworth,  but  in 
an  assembly  of  specialists  this  was  to  be  expected.  When 
one  is  an  authority  on  Old  High  German  roots  the  affairs 
of  the  nation  may  sometimes  sink  into  insignificance, 
and  the  classification  of  protoplasms  may  sometimes  ob- 
scure the  importance  of  a  local  election.  The  cosmo- 
politanism of  Hallworth  was  largely  preserved  by  the 
Wife  of  the  Faculty.  Possessed  of  charm  and  intellect, 
interested  alike  in  the  latest  discovery  of  science  and  in 
the  success  of  a  dinner-party,  able  to  entertain  an  Oxford 
lion  and  to  make  the  children 's  clothes,  she  always  saved 
the  day.  She  steered  her  husband  away  from  the  rocks 
of  egotism,  and  guided  him  into  the  shallows  of  his 
neighbor's  conversation.  She  took  him  to  receptions 
when  he  was  longing  to  be  at  work  on  his  monograph  of 
the  Avignon  Period  of  the  Papacy.  She  covered  his  re- 
treat from  the  reception  with  fair  words  which  clothed 
him  in  the  character  of  a  Chesterfield  instead  of  an  un- 
tamed scholar. 

Waring,  after  his  talk  with  Dr.  Penfold  concerning 
Barbara,  tried  to  make  such  social  opportunities  for  her 
as  he  thought  she  could  embrace  during  her  period  of 
mourning.  It  was  his  proposition  that  Dr.  Penfold 
should  bring  her  some  evening  to  the  house  of  the  ex- 
President,  and  that  they  should  then  call  upon  Mrs. 
Maturin  in  Dutton's  company.  Dutton  asked  Allaire  to 
be  of  the  party,  veiling  his  own  eagerness  for  her  con- 
sent under  a  plea  for  Barbara,  who,  as  Dr.  Penfold 's 
ward,  was  in  a  peculiar  and  appealing  position. 

59 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

"I  think  she's  quite  able  to  take  care  of  herself/' 
Allaire  commented;  "but  I  like  her,  and  I'll  go." 

Waring  met  them  in  the  entrance-hall.  It  was  the 
first  time  Barbara  had  seen  him  in  evening-dress.  In- 
stinctively she  glanced  from  him  to  Dr.  Penfold,  whose 
coat  by  contrast  seemed  of  an  ancient  cut.  He  was  look- 
ing about  him  with  a  gentle,  surprised  air. 

"I  have  not  been  in  this  house  since  Feverel  left  us 
to  go  to  the  Court  of  St.  James.  I  believe  it  is  full  of 
art  treasures,"  he  added,  turning  to  Barbara;  "but  Mr. 
Waring  will  have  to  explain  those  to  you." 

' '  There 's  a  box  of  cigars  on  the  library  table,  Doctor, 
and  a  good  fire  on  the  hearth." 

Dr.  Penfold,  with  a  smile  of  apology,  left  them. 

"Doesn't  he  care  for  pictures?"  Barbara  asked. 

"No,"  Allaire  answered,  "and  has  the  saving  grace 
not  to  pretend  to." 

Barbara  was  presented  to  Mrs.  Mason.  Dutton,  when 
his  turn  came,  wrung  her  hand  heartily. 

"You  must  like  Dutton,"  Waring  said.  "He's  a  de- 
lightful chap." 

"And  never  talks  about  his  specialty,"  Allaire 
added. 

Barbara  laughed.  She  was  prepared  to  like  any 
friend  of  Waring 's,  and  looking  at  Dutton,  she  thought 
it  would  be  easy  to  like  him  for  his  own  sake.  The  sim- 
plicity of  his  nianner  appealed  at  once  to  her. 

Before  leaving  the  drawing-room  Waring  showed  her 
the  famous  Corot  which  hung  between  two  of  the  long 
windows,  the  Titian  above  the  carved  fireplace,  and  the 
incomparable  little  Watteau  over  the  Louis  Quinze  desk. 
To  the  atmosphere  of  a  scholar's  home  she  was  accus- 

60 


TWO   HOUSES 

tomed,  but  not  to  aesthetic  luxury.  The  great  drawing- 
room  had  that  character  of  strangeness  which  accom- 
panies distinction,  whether  of  personality  or  place.  In 
such  a  room  Barbara  thought  one  might  be  able  to  have 
brilliant  fancies,  to  say  unusual  things. 

"Feverel  loans  Watteaus  and  Titians  to  us  poor 
devils  as  we  loan  books  to  students,"  Waring  said;  "it's 
exquisite,  isn't  it?"  he  added,  seeing  Barbara's  eyes 
fixed  dreamily  on  the  shimmering,  dream-like  landscape 
of  Corot. 

"It  is  like  the  lands  you  see  in  your  thoughts,"  she 
answered;  "when  you  are  walking  through  the  twilight 
and  everything  is  still." 

"Do  you  like  the  Old  Masters?  There  are  some  de- 
lightful Dutch  examples  in  the  library." 

They  ushered  her  into  a  long  room  lined  with  books, 
and  having  alcoves,  oak-paneled,  against  the  dark  back- 
ground of  which  some  small  paintings  glowed  like 
jewels.  While  Waring  was  explaining  them  to  Bar- 
bara, Allaire  seated  herself  opposite  to  Dr.  Penfold,  who 
regarded  her  mildly  through  a  beatific  haze  of  delicate 
gray-blue  smoke. 

"That  is  a  very  good  cigar,"  she  said. 

"Extravagantly,  romantically  good,"  he  answered. 
'  ■  I  feel  like  a  man  who  burns  a  poem. ' ' 

"No,  you  don't  at  all,  because  you  don't  like 
poetry. ' ' 

Dr.  Penfold  laughed. 

"You  are  always  discovering  my  limitations,  Al- 
laire." 

"Your  ward  likes  poetry." 
,      "Does  she?" 

61 


THE    LAW   OF   LIFE 

1 '  Yes ;  she  has  feelings  in  her  chest,  lots  of  them !  I 
could  see  by  the  way  she  looked  at  that  Corot." 

"You  used  to  have  feelings  in  your  chest,  as  you 
express  it.  I  remember  your  crying  a  whole  afternoon 
because  Professor  Leonard's  bulldog  had  killed  your 
kitten.  It  was  summer  and  the  windows  were  open,  and 
in  despair  I  left  my  work  and  scoured  the  University 
farm  for  another  kitten.  I  found  one  at  last  and  brought 
it  home  in  my  pocket,  only  to  be  told  by  a  six-year-old 
that  it  wasn't  the  proper  shade." 

"You  didn't  care  about  my  grief,"  Allaire  said; 
"you  only  wanted  peace  and  quiet  for  your  work.  I 
used  to  wish  we'd  move  away  or  that  you  would.  My 
childhood  was  repressed  because  of  a  mathematical 
neighbor. ' ' 

"We  are  going  on  to  Mrs.  Maturin's,"  Waring  said, 
approaching  them. 

"Must  I  go?"  Dr.  Penfold  said,  reluctantly. 

Waring  laughed. 

"Remember,  as  a  guardian  you  should  go  into  so- 
ciety." 

Dr.  Penfold  laid  down  his  cigar  and  rose  at  once. 
Waring  had  observed  that  he  seemed  more  keenly  aware 
of  Barbara 's  existence  and  of  his  duties  toward  her  than 
he  had  ever  known  him  to  be  of  any  human  being.  He 
seemed  conscientiously  trying  to  repay  a  debt  of  love 
and  gratitude. 

Barbara's  first  impression  of  this  new  house  was  of  a 
bower  of  palms  and  growing  plants;  of  luxury  at  once 
stately  and  inviting.  At  one  side  of  the  large  hall  the 
drawing-room   opened.     Some   people   in   evening-dress 

62 


TWO    HOUSES 

were  gathered  about  the  hearth,  which  extended  into  the 
room  under  a  cone-shaped  canopy  of  carved  stone. 

Far  the  first  time  in  her  life  Barbara  was  painfully 
conscious  of  her  appearance.  Her  muscles  grew  rigid 
with  shyness  as  she  looked  down  at  her  plain  black  frock, 
her  stiff  black  gloves  and  thick  walking-shoes. 

Dutton  read  her  thoughts  and  whispered  in  her  ear: 

"Mrs.  Maturin  is  also  in  mourning. " 

The  kindness  of  his  voice  gave  her  courage.  She 
stepped  forward  into  the  drawing-room.  At  the  same 
moment  one  of  the  group  about  the  fire  rose  and  came 
toward  her,  a  woman  who  seemed  to  Barbara  as  strange 
and  fascinating  as  the  aristocratic  paintings  she  had 
just  seen.  A  patrician  face  lit  by  keen,  kind  eyes  was 
bent  for  a  moment  toward  her.    Barbara's  heart  leaped. 

"She  is  lovely  and  she  is  unhappy,"  she  thought,  in 
that  instant  of  greeting. 

Then  she  was  introduced  to  the  other  guests,  Pro- 
fessor Joyce,  whom  she  had  met  before;  Mrs.  Joyce,  a 
little  brunette  looking  like  a  poppy  in  a  gown  of  scarlet 
chiffon;  Mrs.  Cartwright,  the  wife  of  the  professor  of 
political  economy,  whose  languid,  graceful  manner 
seemed  reminiscent  of  a  previous  incarnation  in  the 
Orient ;  Mrs.  Leonard,  and  a  clergyman,  a  Mr.  Perceval, 
of  about  forty  years  of  age,  who  had  the  head  of  a  saint 
and  the  manner  of  a  man  of  the  world. 

"Put  me  in  a  corner,"  Barbara  whispered  to  Dut- 
ton, "I  just  want  to  look  on." 

She  felt  among  these  people  like  a  .child  who  is  sit- 
ting up  too  late.  She  slipped  into  a  seat  under  a  bank 
of  palms,  and  Dutton  sat  down  beside  her. 

"You  don't  have  to  talk  to  me,"  he  said,  in  his  kind, 
5  63 


THE    LAW    OF    LIFE 

literal  way,  "and  if  you're  alone,  Mrs.  Maturin  will 
think  you  are  being  neglected. ' ' 

Barbara  was  studying  her  hostess  from  the  shadow  of 
the  palms.  Clothes  had  never  interested  her  very  much, 
but  she  looked  now  with  closest  attention  at  every  detail 
of  Mrs.  Maturin 's  gown.  Dutton's  words,  "She  is  also 
in  mourning!"  recurred  to  her.  Yes,  but  what  a  dif- 
ference! Here  was  a  grief  that  expressed  itself  not 
clumsily  but  with  perfect  grace.  Barbara  felt  a  sudden 
pang  of  jealousy,  as  if  in  some  way  she  was  not  being 
duly  reverent  to  the  memory  of  her  uncle.  She  glanced 
down  at  her  own  frock. 

Waring  made  his  way  to  Mrs.  Maturin 's  side,  and  the 
others  paused  that  he  might  enter  into  conversation  with 
her.  Barbara,  watching  her  every  expression,  walked  in 
that  space  of  time  a  long  way  into  maturity.  The  lec- 
tures of  Hallworth  had  failed  to  arouse  in  her  any  great 
degree  of  enthusiasm,  but  she  was  stirred  to  the  depths 
by  this  vision  of  a  woman  who  bore  about  her  all  the 
enchantment  of  new  revelations.  What  world  did  she 
embody— fashion,  learning,  experience,  pleasure,  pain? 
She  could  not  tell,  but  she  knew  it  was  a  world  as  yet 
closed  to  her. 

She  looked  about  the  room  for  a  solution.  The  walls, 
paneled  in  white  wood,  with  garlands  of  carved  tinted 
flowers  borne  by  Cupids,  were  bare  of  pictures.  A  deep 
crimson  carpet  covered  the  floor,  and  the  chairs  and 
divans  were  upholstered  in  crimson  velvet.  Bowls  of 
violets  and  red  roses  were  placed  about.  The  corners  of 
the  room  were  banked  with  palms.  Against  this  back- 
ground Mrs.  Maturin,  in  her  black  dress,  struck  the 
minor  note  which  its  blandness  needed.     Between  her- 

64 


TWO    HOUSES 

self  and  this  room,  with  its  suggestions  of  urbanity  and 
of  the  joy  of  life,  no  contradiction  existed.  It  stood  to 
her  in  the  relation  of  a  happy  memory.  But  Barbara, 
picturing  an  appropriate  background  for  her,  called  up 
the  interior  of  a  cathedral.  She  knew  that  Mrs.  Maturin 
had  been  much  in  the  world,  had  been  a  wife  for  two 
brilliant  years ;  but  these  experiences  had  not  obliterated 
a  certain  girlishness  of  appearance  underneath  the  some- 
what stately  manner.  She  herself  was  too  young  to  know 
that  a  great  love  keeps  and  leaves  the  soul  virginal. 

In  an  interval  of  the  conversation  Mrs.  Maturin  rose 
and  came  over  to  Barbara. 

1  'You  are  out  of  the  circle,"  she  said;  "will  you  not 
come  nearer  the  fire?" 

She  took  the  girl's  hand  and  led  her  to  a  place  be- 
side her  own. 

"I  have  seen  you  once  before,  Miss  Dale,  a  long  time 
ago.    You  would  not  remember." 

"You  have  seen  me  before?"  Barbara  repeated  in 
surprise. 

"Yes;  you  were  a  little  thing  of  seven  or  eight.  I 
was  a  young  girl  spending  the  summer  in  your  part  of 
the  country.  We  drove  over  the  hills  to  see  the  house 
in  which  Dr.  Dale  lived.  We  wanted  to  meet  him,  to 
shake  hands  with  him ;  but  we  did  not  know  whether  we 
could  get  up  the  courage.  When  we  came  to  the  front 
gate  a  little,  dark-haired  girl  was  standing  there  in  a 
white  frock,  her  arms  full  of  daisies.  We  asked  her,  be- 
cause she  seemed  to  have  a  funny,  grown-up  air  of  pro- 
prietorship, if  she  thought  Dr.  Dale  would  see  us;  but 
she  answered :  '  I  entreat  you  not  to  disturb  him.  He  is 
putting  Savonarola  on  trial  this  afternoon. '  ' ' 

65 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

A  ripple  of  laughter  brought  the  color  to  Barbara's 
cheeks.  She  was  conscious  that  they  were  all  looking  at 
her.  .  The  Heverend  Mr.  Perceval,  who  was  sitting  near 
her,  said : 

"Were  your  sympathies  with  Savonarola,  Miss  Dale, 
or  with  your  distinguished  uncle?" 

1  ■  I  don 't  remember, ' '  Barbara  said ;  '  ■  but  I  'm  sorry 
I  was  ungracious." 

"You  were  not  ungracious,  only  fully  alive  to  the 
importance  of  the  crisis.  I  thought  of  that  little  girl 
long  after  when  I  was  at  San  Marco— and  I  am  glad  to 
meet  her  now. ' ' 

Her  voice  was  indescribably  sweet.  Barbara  felt  at 
that  moment  that  she  would  follow  such  a  voice  to  the 
world's  end. 

"Miss  Dale  still  respects  the  crises  of  a  scholar's 
work,"  Dr.  Penfold  said. 

Mrs.  Leonard  sighed. 

"I  shall  be  so  glad  when  that  terrible  History  of 
Russia  is  finished.  A  crisis  is  always  on  when  I'm  giv- 
ing a  dinner-party  or  when  a  bore  calls. ' ' 

Professor  Leonard  said  nothing,  but  looked  grim. 

"I  used  to  stand  in  awe  of  Mr.  Joyce's  study  door," 
Mrs.  Joyce  said  airily,  "until  I  found  him  one  day  play- 
ing poker  back  of  it,  with  two  lambs  of  instructors. 
Since  then  I  never  hesitate  to  go  straight  to  him  when  I 
want  anything,  though  it  be  over  the  ruins  of  Car- 
thage." 

Joyce  smiled  amiably,  but  made  no  comment. 

1 '  How  is  your  mission  in  Mercer  Street  coming  on  ? " 
Mrs.  Maturin  said,  turning  to  Perceval. 

"Very  well,"  he  answered. 
66 


TWO    HOUSES 

"I  can't  forgive  you,  Perceval,"  Waring  said,  in  a 
tone  which  showed  Barbara  there  was  a  friendship  of 
long  standing  between  them,  "for  trying  to  make  saints 
of  people.  When  you've  accomplished  it  what  will  be- 
come of  the  playwrights  and  novelists?" 

Perceval  smiled. 

"There  could  be  no  dramatic  values  in  a  world  of 
saints,  could  there ! "  he  said. 

He  was  the  rector  of  St.  Jude  's,  an  old  church  where 
generations  of  the  townspeople  had  worshiped.  He  had 
come  there  in  Waring 's  sophomore  year,  and  Waring 
was  prepared  to  be  critical  of  him,  because  Perceval  had 
stopped  short  in  a  brilliant  legal  career  to  enter  the 
ministry.  He  liked  him,  however,  when  he  found  in  him 
a  winning  combination  of  medieval  faith  and  ultra-mod- 
ern thought,  a  rare  union  of  gentleman  and  saint.  It 
was  one  of  Waring 's  boyish  dictums  that  saints  were 
not  as  a  rule  well-bred. 

Perceval's  influence  over  the  students  was  deep  and 
wide,  and  he  kept  open  church  for  them  on  week-days  as 
well  as  Sundays.  His  services,  though  rich  with  flowers 
and  lights  and  music,  gave  no  offence  to  the  old-fash- 
ioned members  of  his  congregation,  because  he  never 
seemed  preoccupied  with  symbols.  On  the  other  hand 
no  one  ever  knew  whether  he  was  orthodox.     He  had 

IF 

loaned  books  to  students  which  surely  deserved  a  place 
on  the  Index. 

His  sermons  told  little,  for  in  his  rare  allusions  to 
dogma  a  certain  wistfulness  of  expression  made  his 
hearers  conscious  only  of  the  margin  of  mystery  in  the 
universe.  He  was  found,  therefore,  a  formidable  rival 
to  the  learned  and  eloquent  University  preachers,  some 

67 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

of  whom,  because  Hallworth  was  committed  to  no  sec- 
tarian principle,  thought  it  necessary  to  address  the  Uni- 
versity as  if  it  were  a  secret  society  pledged  to  atheism. 
Students  and  professors  alike,  seeking  refreshment  of 
spirit,  would  slip  away  to  St.  Jude's,  where  the  young 
priest  did  not  weary  them  with  doctrinal  subtleties,  but 
exhorted  them  to  live  temperate  lives,  to  keep  faith  with 
their  fellows  and  to  hang  on  like  grim  death  to  the  Ten 
Commandments  while  awaiting  further  instructions. 
The  light  might  not  break  at  once  from  beyond  the  hori- 
zons of  the  world,  but  it  would  break. 

"You  already  know  the  Reverend  Mr.  Perceval/ ■ 
Mrs.  Maturin  said  to  Waring. 

* l  From  my  sophomore  year.  You  see  we  are  old 
friends,"  Waring  answered.  "I  always  think  of  you, 
Perceval,  as  chaplain  of  Hallworth." 

Mrs.  Maturin 's  face  lighted. 

"Chaplain  to  a  modern  American  university," 
she  said;  "what  a  post  that  would  be,  with  a  faculty 
steeped  in  science  and  the  young  things  posing  as 
agnostics. ' ' 

Barbara  looked  eagerly  at  Perceval  to  see  what  he 
would  say.  She  was  strongly  attracted  by  the  clear-cut, 
manly  face,  with  its  kind  blue  eyes  and  expression  of 
reserve. 

' '  What  would  you  do  with  them,  Perceval  ? ' '  Waring 
said,  with  a  certain  challenge  in  his  tone. 

"Do?  Nothing  but  turn  them  over  to  life  for  their 
instruction— poor  little  agnostics!"  he  added,  in  a  lower 
tone. 

"We're  terribly  self-conscious  in  this  country  over 
our  religious  doubts,"  Mrs.  Cartwright  said. 

68 


TWO    HOUSES 

"It's  like  our  culture,"  said  Waring.  "Over  there 
it's  a  matter  of  course— in  the  blood.  Here  it's  oftener 
a  pack  on  one 's  back. ' ' 

"And  yet  Hallworth,  with  all  its  crudities,  repre- 
sents the  age,  the  time,  better  than  Oxford,  doesn  't  it  1 " 
Mrs.  Maturin  said,  looking  from  one  to  the  other. 

"Oxford  is  a  university  of  memories,"  said  Perce- 
val; "beautiful — but  still  memories." 

"I  think  I  prefer  Hallworth,"  Mrs.  Maturin  said; 
"it's  alive,  every  part  of  it." 

"What  are  you  solemn  people  talking  about?"  Mrs. 
Joyce's  bell-like  voice  interrupted-.  "Hallworth,  I  sup- 
pose. I  get  sick  of  the  very  name.  That  wretch  Her- 
bert promised  me  I  should  live  in  New  York  after  we 
were  married.  I  wanted  him  to  go  to  Columbia.  Colum- 
bia 's  so  nice !  You  can  go  down  on  Twenty-third  Street 
and  forget  all  about  it,  looking  at  the  new  hats.  But 
you  can't  forget  Hallworth  one  minute— you  have  to  go 
fifteen  miles  to  get  out  of  the  sight  of  its  towers. ' ' 

Her  listeners  laughed.  Joyce's  face  wore  a  serene 
and  amiable  expression. 

"See  what  you've  brought  Mrs.  Joyce  to,"  Dutton 
said. 

The  little  lady  thrust  a  foot  beyond  the  ruffles  of  her 
gown  and  tapped  the  hearth  impatiently. 

"How  far  would  thirty-five  hundred  go  in  New 
York ! ' '  Joyce  said.  ' '  We  'd  have  to  live  in  a  flat  named 
'Priscilla'  or  'Rosamond,'  the  kind  in  which  you  punch  a 
button  to  open  the  front  door,  and  our  dinner  would 
come  bounding  joyously  up  to  us  on  the  dumb-waiter. 
Here  we  have  a  whole  house,  beautiful  scenery,  fresh 
eggs,  University  butter. ' ' 

69 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

"  Fresh  eggs!''  said  his  wife  scornfully.  "If  you 
knew,  Herbert,  how  I  have  to  scour  the  country  and  go 
down  on  my  very  knees  to  the  farmers ! ' ' 

"The  provinces  have  their  drawbacks,"  said  Dutton, 
sympathetically;  "but  I  assure  you,  Mrs.  Joyce,  we 
couldn't  possibly  spare  you." 

"And  you  should  stand  by  your  guns,"  said  Pro- 
fessor Leonard. 

1 '  Oh,  I  try  to  do  my  duty, ' '  Mrs.  Joyce  said  pensively. 
"I  have  all  Herbert's  students  at  the  house  twice  dur- 
ing the  winter,  and  have  to  go  to  bed  a  week  after  each 
occasion,  and  I  call  on  all  the  instructors'  mothers  and 
maiden  sisters,  and  if  they  haven't  mothers,  I  try  to  be 
a  mother  to  them,  and  look  interested  when  they  talk 
of  ichthyosauri  and  the  philosophy  of  Nietzsche  and 
comfort  them  when  they  grumble  about  their  salaries. 
Oh,  I  do  my  duty!" 

1  *  Indeed  you  do, ' '  said  Dutton  soothingly. 

Perceval  laughed. 

"You  should  write  your  memoirs,  Mrs.  Joyce." 

He  came  over  and  took  a  seat  beside  her.  Mrs.  Mat- 
urin  turned  to  Barbara. 

"Mr.  Waring  tells  me  you  are  fond  of  pictures. 
Would  you  like  to  see  the  gallery?" 

The  gallery  opened  out  of  the  drawing-room,  and 
contained  a  small  collection,  chiefly  of  the  modern 
French  school.  Waring  lingered  over  his  explanation  of 
the  pictures  to  Barbara,  because  her  enthusiasm  brought 
that  look  to  her  face  which  had  transfigured  her  when 
rowing  on  the  lake.  * '  She  responds  to  nature  and  to  art, ' ' 
he  said  to  himself,  "but  not  to  people."  He  had  thought 
her  shy  and  stiff  in  Mrs.  Maturin's  drawing-room,  but 

70 


*  TWO    HOUSES 

her  child-like  appearance  excused  it.  He  could  not  real- 
ize that  she  was  twenty. 

While  they  were  looking  at  a  Rousseau,  Dutton 
joined  them. 

"You  must  take  Miss  Dale  into  the  library,"  he 
said.  "There  are  some  splendid  copies  in  oils  there  of 
the  Old  Masters." 

"To  think  he  had  to  leave  it  all,"  Barbara  said 
softly,  "and  her." 

1  •  She  is  greatly  to  be  pitied, ' '  Dutton  said. 

"I  don't  think  so,"  Waring  said.  "She  lost  him  at 
the  height  of  their  happiness.  Isn't  it  better  to  have 
superlative  memories  than " 

He  paused,  and  Dutton  threw  himself  into  the 
breach. 

"Don't  believe  these  heresies,  Miss  Dale,"  he  said 
eagerly,  with  a  charming  apology  lighting  up  his  thin, 
dark  face,  and  then  turning  to  Waring,  he  added :  ' '  You 
should  not  say  such  things  before  Miss  Dale." 

"If  they  were  happy,  death  could  be  only  a  misfor- 
tune," she  said  in  the  grave  voice  which  made  her  seem 
to  Waring  sometimes  years  older  than  himself. 

He  smiled,  but  made  no  answer.  He  led  the  way 
across  the  hall  to  a  room  which  ran  the  entire  length  of 
the  house.  Above  the  low  bookcases  hung  copies  in  oils 
of  the  famous  pictures  of  the  European  galleries.  The 
beautiful  and  rare  things  with  which  the  room  was  filled 
awakened  in  Barbara  a  feeling  of  intrusion,  the  sense  of 
being  a  third  person  in  the  presence  of  two  lovers. 

Waring,  who  had  been  examining  some  books,  turned 
and  found  her  in  absorbed  silence  looking  at  the  mantel 
of  the  fireplace.     In  its  center  was  a  crucifix  carved  in 

71 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

high  relief  upon  the  wood.  She  turned  to  him  with  a 
question  in  her  face.    Dutton  joined  them. 

"You  are  wondering  about  that.  I  asked  Mrs.  Mat- 
urin  once  what  it  meant.  She  answered  that  the  sum  of 
all  human  knowledge  ended  there.  Do  you  see  what  is 
carved  under  it— carved  since  his  death?" 

"  'My  soul,  an  alien  here,  hath  flown  to  nobler 
wars, '  ' '  Barbara  read  slowly.    ' '  How  beautiful ! ' ' 

"Mrs.  Maturin  is  more  of  a  mystic  than  one  would 
think,"  Dutton  said. 

"A  realist,  rather,"  said  Waring.  "What  does  the 
crucifix  stand  for  but  the  baldest  realities  of  life,  strug- 
gle and  pain  and  defeat?" 

"Perceval  would  add— 'and  sacrifice.'  " 

Waring  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"We  are  all  sacrificed  more  or  less,  the  weaker  to 
the  stronger.  Are  you  tired,  Miss  Dale ;  shall  we  go  back 
to  the  drawing-room?" 

"I  am  not  tired,  but  I  think  I  ought  to  go.  Haven't 
I  stayed  too  long?" 

"Oh,  that  counts  nothing  here,  if  you're  happy." 

They  wandered  back  to  the  hall. 

' '  More  people  have  come, ' '  Dutton  said. 

' '  Yes, ' '  said  Waring,  studying  the  new  arrivals  from 
the  shelter  of  a  palm.  "Germanic  Literature,  Early 
American  History,  Electrical  Engineering  and  Sanskrit 
Roots."  He  turned  to  Barbara.  "Don't  you  think 
Mathematics  and  Chemistry  better  say  'Good-night'?" 


72 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

A  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD. 

In  the  development  of  character  there  are  certain 
transitional  stages  when  touches  light  as  rose-petals 
leave  an  ineffaceable  impression.  During  her  first  weeks 
at  Hallworth  it  was  not  the  complex  machinery  of  uni- 
versity organization  which  was  most  significant  to  Bar- 
bara, but  the  trifles  of  the  hour ;  snatches  of  talk  in  the 
corridors,  the  chance  smile  of  a  friendly  classmate,  the 
dress  of  a  young  girl  going  to  a  dance,  the  morning  light 
through  the  halos  of  the  saints  in  the  chapel  windows; 
the  strange,  faint  odor  of  books  in  the  stacks  of  the 
library,  small  heartaches,  and  sudden  joy  at  the  sight 
of  a  rift  of  blue  between  November  clouds,  or  over  some 
well-turned  phrase  of  the  professor  in  his  lecture-room. 

Her  evening  at  Mrs.  Maturin's  had  a  practical  effect 
in  enabling  her  to  get  a  truer  perspective  of  the  life  at 
Stafford  Hall.  Definite  sympathies  leaning  toward  that 
maturer  society  of  which  she  had  had  a  glimpse  were 
awakened  in  her.  She  felt  dimly  that  allowance  would 
be  made  there  for  her  inexperience,  whereas  the  girl- 
students  were  the  most  uncompromising  of  judges.  Her 
guardian,  Dutton,  Waring  and  Allaire  represented  Hall- 
worth  to  her.  Her  college-mates,  with  the  exception  of 
the, Emperor  and  Elizabeth  King,  remained  as  unknown 
as  Martians. 

Helena  Dare,  after  her  first  attempt  to  treat  Bar- 
bara as  an  experienced  junior  should  treat  a  little  fresh- 
man, suddenly  changed  her  tactics  by  taking  her  behind 

73 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

the  veil  of  what  she  was  pleased  to  call  her  university 
manner.  She  seemed  to  delight  in  showing  her  uncon- 
ventional self  through  the  medium  of  whimsical  con- 
versations. An  adept  in  certain  collegiate  arts  of  fascina- 
tion, she  herself  had  become  half -fascinated  by  this  grave 
child,  as  she  called  her,  who  never  yielded  an  inch  to 
her  caressing  manner,  with  its  half-veiled  suggestion  of 
panther-like  traits.  Of  these  talks  with  the  Emperor, 
Barbara  remembered  most  clearly  one  which  gained  sig- 
nificance through  its  association  in  point  of  time  with 
certain  important  events  in  her  own  life. 

She  was  bending  over  her  books  late  one  night  at  the 
end  of  February  when  the  Emperor  entered  and  seated 
herself  at  the  study  table. 

"I  want  to  be  married,"  she  said  abruptly. 

"Why?" 

"So  I  can  know  unmarried  men." 

Barbara  laughed. 

"Can't  you  know  them  anyway?  You  do  know  a 
great  many." 

"Yes;  but  it's  trying.  It  takes  all  one's  energies  to 
quell  their  suspicions." 

Barbara  reflected  upon  this,  but  her  experience  with 
men  being  limited  to  occasional  good-comradeship  walks 
with  Waring  or  Dutton,  she  found  nothing  to  say. 

"Would  you  like  to  be  married?"  the  Emperor 
asked. 

"I  haven't  thought  much  about  it." 

"I  believe  you,  Barbara.  If  another  freshman  told 
me  that  I  should  say  she  lied." 

"Why  should  one  lie?" 

"To  guard  truth,  I  suppose.  It's  a  tender  plant. 
74 


A    TURN    OF    THE    ROAD 

Elizabeth  King  tells  me  you  are  really  going  to  attend 
Miss  Ravenel's  reception  to-morrow  night,  and  that  she 
is  to  help  you  dress. ' ' 

"She  wants  to  do  my  hair  for  me." 

The  Emperor  regarded  her  through  half-closed 
lids. 

"I  should  like  to  see  you  in  certain  kinds  of  dresses. 
You  are  unusual,  and  you  don't  know  it;  more's  the 
pity.  But  your  type  is  not  to  be  appreciated  by  young 
things  such  as  herd  here.  I  appreciate  it,  because  I'm 
an  old  soul." 

"An  old  soul!"  Barbara  repeated,  bewildered. 

1 '  Yes ;  I  've  been  through  a  number  of  incarnations, ' ' 
the  Emperor  said  solemnly ;  but  the  corners  of  her  mouth 
twitched. 

"You  are  always  jesting." 

"No,  not  always— only  when  I  am  in  earnest.  Well, 
I  am  going.  I  see  you  want  to  study.  Now  say,  '  Good- 
night, my  Emperor!'  " 

"But  you  are  not  my  Emperor,"  Barbara  said 
gravely. 

' '  I  can  wait.    I  am  good  at  waiting. ' ' 

"To  come  into  your  kingdom?"  Barbara  said,  with 
a  gleam  of  mischief  in  her  eyes. 

"Yes;  in  the  undiscovered  country."  She  paused  at 
the  door  and  looked  back. 

"Some  day  you  and  I  will  understand  each  other, 
and  understanding  is  good— better,  even,  than  caring, 
because  it  doesn't  hurt." 

' '  Does  caring  always  hurt  1 ' '  Barbara  asked. 

"Try  it  and  see,"  said  the  Emperor.  Then  she  was 
gone. 

75 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

The  next  evening  Barbara  sat  in  her  stiff  white 
petticoats  before  her  mirror,  her  dark  hair  hanging 
about  her  like  a  cloud.  She  was  awaiting  Eliza- 
beth King.  Between  the  two  girls  a  real  friend- 
ship had  from  the  first  existed;  Elizabeth's  tem- 
perament being  of  that  joyous  type  which  in  any 
environment  seems  conscious  only  of  those  elements 
that  will  increase  its  joy.  Her  blitheness  was  of  the 
nature  of  sunshine  and  fresh  air,  all  enfolding  yet  im- 
palpable and  impersonal.  She  had  accepted  Barbara  as 
she  accepted  everyone,  as  she  was,  without  wish  to  make 
her  over.  Barbara  for  her  part  was  always  happier  and 
surer  of  herself  when  in  Elizabeth's  company.  To-night 
she  awaited  her  to  dispel  a  certain  chill  of  reluctance 
which  had  settled  upon  her.  She  sat  in  her  chair  stiffly, 
and  wished  that  she  were  not  going  to  the  reception. 
But  the  invitation  from  the  Dean  of  the  Women's  Hall 
seemed  to  her  of  a  compulsory  nature,  like  a  royal  sum- 
mons. She  knew  Miss  Ravenel  chiefly  through  Waring 's 
characterization  of  her  as  "  Young  in  years,  old  in  ex- 
perience, and  timeless  in  charm." 

Looking  over  her  limited  wardrobe  for  a  gown  to 
wear  upon  this  momentous  occasion  she  had  selected  a 
black  silk.  It  was  laid  out  nicely  now  upon  the  bed. 
A  pair  of  shining  new  white  gloves  lay  beside  the  dress. 

Elizabeth  entered  radiant. 

Barbara  rose  to  her  feet.  Her  face  lightened  as  at 
the  sight  of  a  fair  sunset  or  of  a  perfect  flower. 

"How  lovely  you  look!    What  a  beautiful  dress!" 

"It  isn't  the  dress,  dear;  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is." 
Her  voice  was  gay  as  a  bird's,  her  eyes  full  of  light. 
But  Barbara  continued  to  look  at  the  dress,  a  cloud  of 

76 


A    TURN    OF    THE    ROAD 

pale-blue  diaphanous  stuff  caught  up  here  and  there 
with  tiny  bunches  of  forget-me-nots.  A  wreath  of  the 
same  flower  decked  the  low-cut  waist  from  which  Eliza- 
beth's shoulders  gleamed  white.  In  her  soft  brown  hair 
was  a  knot  of  blue  velvet  ribbon.  Her  blue  eyes  shone 
like  stars. 

"Dear  heart!     Look  at  me." 

"I  am  looking." 

' '  No ;  but  right  in  my  eyes.    What  do  you  see  there  ? ' ' 

1 '  You  're  happy. ' ' 

"Happy!  Dear,  do  you  see  the  flowers  I  wear,  the 
flowers  I'm  carrying?" 

1 '  Forget-me-nots. ' ' 

"Dear,  I'm  engaged." 

' '  Engaged, ' '  Barbara  repeated  vaguely. 

"Yes.  You  stand  and  look  at  me  as  if  you  didn't 
quite  believe  it.  Don't  I  look  happy  enough  to  be  en- 
gaged?" 

"Indeed,  yes!" 

"Come  kiss  me,  then.  Don't  you  know  it's  the  most 
wonderful  thing  in  the  world  to  be  engaged  to  the  man 
you  love  1 " 

"Oh,  Elizabeth,  I  am  glad!" 

"I  know  you  are;  but  you  say  it  as  if  you  didn't 

understand.     But  how  could  you— how  can  any  one " 

She  glided  to  the  window  and  hid  her  face  for  a  mo- 
ment, looking  up  at  the  stars. 

"Who  is  he?" 

"Frederick  Clyde." 

1  ■  The  class-president  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  that's  one  little  bit  of  him.  I  wrote  mother 
last  night,  though  I  guess  she  knew  it  was  coming.    The 

77 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

Emperor  knows  and  you— that's  all.  The  others  I 
shan't  tell  for  a  while.  You  see  we  can't  be  married 
until  we  have  our  degrees." 

1 '  I  see, ' '  said  Barbara. 

"Sit  down,  dear.  I  can  talk  just  as  well  while  I'm 
doing  your  hair." 

"You  can't  do  it  in  that  gown." 

"Of  course  I  can,  and  when  it's  done  I'll  show  you 
what  I  have  in  that  bundle.  Now,  don't  say  a  word.  I 
am  going  to  turn  you  into  a  Madonna.  What  do  you 
think  the  Emperor  said  when  I  told  her  I  was  engaged  ? ' ' 

"I  couldn't  guess." 

"She  said:  'It's  a  hackneyed  phenomenon,  but  your 
spirit  of  eternal  youth  will  make  it  wonderful.  Please 
let  me  look  on.'  Doesn't  that  sound  like  her?  You 
know  she 's  been  engaged  three  times. ' ' 

"How  could  she!" 

"She  has  a  restless  intellect.  She  likes  to  investigate 
people.  Then  when  the  mystery  is  gone  she  tires  of 
them.  Dear,  turn  your  head  a  little  that  way.  There, 
don't  you  look  like  a  Madonna?" 

1 '  I  don 't  know  what  a  Madonna  looks  like. ' ' 

"Oh,  pure  and  far  off  and  as  if  she  couldn't  dance, 
but  beautiful  and  strange  too.  You're  the  only  girl  in 
this  place  looks  so.  You  ought  to  make  the  most  of  it. 
Now  you  shall  see  what  I  want  you  to  wear. ' ' 

She  unpinned  a  muslin  bundle  and  shook  out  a  dress 
of  white  organdie. 

"It's  one  of  my  summer  ones.  I  never  wore  it  here. 
I  want  you  to  wear  it  this  evening.  We're  just  of  a 
height  and  both  slender. ' ' 

Barbara  flushed. 

78 


A   TURN    OF   THE    ROAD 

"You're  very,  very  kind,  but  I  couldn't,  Elizabeth." 

"Why  not,  dear?" 

1 '  It  doesn  't  seem  right  for  me  to  do  it. ' ' 

"Well,  just  let  me  slip  it  on  you  for  the  effect.  I've 
been  wanting  to  see  you  in  something  besides  black. ' ' 

Barbara  submitted,  and  the  delicate  diaphanous  skirt 
was  put  on  her. 

"You  have  a  beautiful  neck  and  arms;  you  should 
show  them,"  Elizabeth  said,  as  she  adjusted  the  waist. 
"Now  look  at  yourself.  Oh,  Barbara,  dear,  do  wear  it. 
You'd  create  a  sensation." 

Barbara  smiled. 

"But  I  don't  want  to  create  a  sensation.  I  just  want 
to  hide  in  a  corner  and  look  on." 

Yet  a  thrill  went  through  her  as  she  turned  to  the 
mirror.  In  all  her  life  she  had  never  had  on  a  dress 
like  this.  It  enveloped  like  a  caress,  in  its  soft,  airy  ful- 
ness. Yet  there  seemed  something  almost  wrong  in  its 
beauty,  some  element  which  changed  her  into  an  unfa- 
miliar person  for  whose  thoughts  and  feelings  she  could 
not  be  responsible. 

"I  have  white  violets  for  it,  real  ones." 

"Oh,  Elizabeth,  you  are  so  good,  but  I  don't  think 
I  ought  to  wear  it. ' ' 

"But  why?" 

"It's  too  pretty  and  it  isn't  mine.  I  should  feel  al- 
most deceitful." 

"But  this  is  you— and  that  black  gown  is  somebody 
else." 

Barbara  shook  her  head. 

"I  don't  think  I'm  happy  enough  to  wear  a  dress 
like  this." 

6  79 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

"Very  well,  dear.  You  shall  do  just  as  you  please. 
Only  let  me  take  the  ruchings  out  of  that  waist.  You 
want  to  be  all  in  black  with  the  violets  for  the  only 
touch  of  white." 

Barbara  watched  her  as  she  cut  the  careful  stitches. 

"You  take  a  great  deal  of  trouble  for  me,  Eliza- 
beth." 

"No  credit.     I  love  you." 

"Do  you— really — love  me?"  Barbara  said  slowly, 
while  a  radiant  look  stole  into  her  face,  which  had 
the  effect  of  a  gleam  of  sunshine  falling  upon  a  pale 
flower. 

"Of  course,"  Elizabeth  answered,  with  her  happy 
nonchalance.  "Did  it  never  occur  to  you  that  you 
might  be  lovable?" 

From  the  foundation  of  Hallworth  its  official  fes- 
tivities had  been  characterized  by  a  certain  democratic 
spirit  shown  in  the  selection  and  amalgamation  of  the 
guests.  The  deadlocks  common  in  gatherings  of  the 
learned  were  usually  prevented  by  a  judicious  admix- 
ture of  townfolk,  and  in  some  instances  of  the  students. 
The  business  man  knowing  nothing  of  the  professor's 
hobby— early  texts  it  might  be,  or  the  origins  of  feudal- 
ism, and  the  professor  knowing  nothing  of  the  fluctua- 
tions of  trade,  the  two  would  generally  find  a  subject 
upon  which  they  could  both  converse,  such  as  the  amaz- 
ing impositions  of  the  local  trolley  line.  The  ignorance 
of  the  highly  educated  and  the  ignorance  of  those  not 
born  under  an  academic  star  were  thus  fused  into  the 
amiabilities  of  a  social  occasion.  The  students  provided 
another  wholesome  leaven,  the  audacity  and  lack  of  rev- 

80 


A    TURN    OF    THE    ROAD 

erence  of  the  youthful  American  serving  to  render  the 
claims  of  learning  vague  and  uncertain. 

Miss  Ravenel,  the  Dean  of  the  Women's  Hall,  had 
further  exalted  the  claims  of  society  above  those  of  schol- 
arship by  instituting  a  series  of  entertainments  of  which 
the  supreme  touch  was  grace.  Her  receptions  were  an 
appealing  fusion  of  flowers,  candle-lights,  music  and 
suppers  which  secured  her  the  devotion  of  the  male  stu- 
dents and  appreciative  professors. 

Barbara,  tuned  to  admiration,  if  not  to  gaiety,  by 
Elizabeth's  happiness,  lost  consciousness  of  her  timidity 
as  the  Dean  welcomed  her,  and  at  once  became  in- 
terested in  the  scene  before  her.  The  great  drawing- 
room  was  filled  with  people,  the  hum  of  their  voices 
drowning  the  music  of  the  stringed  instruments.  They 
were  all  wearing,  as  they  wore  their  evening-clothes,  the 
third  manner,  that  impalpable,  social  armor  which  has 
all  the  reserve  and  cautiousness  of  hostility  under  its 
embroidery  of  flowers.  Even  the  most  preoccupied  pro- 
fessors had  laid  aside  for  a  time  the  primitive  traits  of 
the  scholar,  and  were  appearing  in  the  character  of  the 
worldly-minded— but  at  the  same  time  paying  the  usual 
penalty  for  such  transformation  by  a  forfeiture  of 
original  charm. 

Barbara  recognized  many  of  her  classmates,  gay  as 
birds  in  their  bright  dresses,  who  were  attempting  inno- 
cent coquetries  with  the  younger  Faculty  or  with  the 
students.  The  fraternity  men  were  noticeable  because 
of  a  certain  indifference  in  their  bearing  which  pro- 
claimed them  to  other  students,  at  least,  as  world-weary 
runners  of  the  gamut  of  pleasure.  Freshmen  of  the 
genus  which  combines   boy  and  cub  in  equal  propor- 

81 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

tions,  looking  distinctly  and  frankly  miserable  in  their 
evening-clothes,  gave  each  other  moral  support  in  palm- 
screened  corners,  and  exchanged  bets  as  to  the  kinds  of 
ice-cream  which  would  be  served  at  supper.  Barbara, 
in  search  of  a  nook  from  where  she  could  view  the  as- 
sembly, found  herself  before  she  was  aware  in  a  group 
of  boys  not  yet  of  the  age  or  disposition  to  yield 
to  feminine  charms.  They  eyed  her  crossly,  but  see- 
ing nothing  objectionable  in  a  pale-faced  girl  in  black 
who  seemed,  like  themselves,  somewhat  out  of  place, 
they  made  room  for  her,  one  of  them  giving  her  a 
chair. 

Barbara  sat  quiet  as  a  mouse,  well  entertained  by 
their  comments  and  boyish  jokes  on  the  hollowness  of 
the  occasion.  She  felt  more  at  her  ease  with  them  than 
with  the  girls,  whose  hybrid  manners  partook  neither 
of  the  naturalness  of  experience  nor  the  naturalness  of 
the  child. 

Her  unspoken  sympathy  cast  out  at  last  the  dumb 
devil,  evoked  in  one  boy  of  the  group  by  the  mere  pres- 
ence of  a  woman.  He  turned  a  frank,  freckled  face  to 
hers. 

1 '  Do  you  know  why  I  'm  in  hiding  ? "  he  said  gaily. 

"No." 

"Every  blessed  professor  in  this  room  has  condi- 
tioned me  in  something  or  other. ' ' 

' '  Oh,  I  see ! "  Barbara  said  politely. 

"I  wouldn't  have  come  at  all,"  he  went  on  con- 
fidentially; "but  the  supper  is  great.  It's  worth  the 
preliminary  martyrdom." 

His  honest  eyes  took  on  a  dreamy  expression,  as  if 
in  sensuous  contemplation  of  joys  to  be. 

82 


A   TURN    OF    THE    ROAD 

''Are  you  hungry?"  Barbara  asked,  with  an  accent 
of  sympathy. 

"I'm  always  hungry!  I  belong  to  an  eating  club, 
the  main  object  of  which  seems  to  be  a  competition  of 
the  slightest  possible  sustenance  on  which  the  human 
frame  can  endure.    Table  board  is  three  dollars  a  week. ' ' 

"Don't  you  really  get  enough  to  eat?" 

"Never." 

"Perhaps  that's  the  reason  you're  conditioned," 
Barbara  said,  gravely  intent  upon  a  solution  of  the  dif- 
ficulty. "Perhaps  your  strength  isn't  kept  up  enough 
for  hard  study. ' ' 

The  Boy  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed,  and 
laughed,  but  gave  no  explanation  for  his  mirth. 

Suddenly  his  face  became  grave. 

"Are  you  a  freshman?"  he  asked. 

"Yes." 

"Then  we're  classmates." 

Some  burden  seemed  to  be  resting  upon  his  young 
soul.  He  looked  preoccupied,  as  if  a  struggle  were 
going  on  within  him.  The  truth  was  that  the  Boy  had 
a  little  sister  twelve  years  old,  who  expected  some  day 
to  enter  Hallworth.  Barbara  reminded  him  of  her  in  a 
vague,  indefinable  way.  He  was  thinking  that  the  little 
sister  might  be  at  Hallworth  just  as  this  girl  was ;  might 
be,  as  she  seemed,  a  lonely,  forgotten  freshman,  with 
no  one  to  look  after  her— to  take  her  to  supper. 

The  Boy  had  counted  on  a  masculine  raid  in  the  sup- 
per-room, a  gallant  charge  upon  salads  and  ices,  unen- 
cumbered by  a  fluttering  feminine  thing  who  must  be 
fed  before  one's  own  appetite  could  be  appeased.  Now 
all  this  vision  of  delight  was  clouded  by  a  doubt.    The 

83 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

struggle  was  sharp,  but  something  rose  in  the  Boy  at  last 
and  conquered.    He  turned  a  meek  face  to  Barbara. 

"Have  you— anyone— to  take  you— in  to  supper?" 

"No,"  she  answered. 

"May  I  have— have — that  pleasure?"  he  stammered, 
looking  quite  miserable. 

"You  are  very  kind,"  she  said.     "Yes,  thank  you." 

This  excursion  into  the  land  of  formality  had  a  para- 
lyzing effect  upon  both  of  them.  They  sat  stiffly  in  their 
chairs,  looking  at  the  assemblage  and  saying  nothing  to 
each  other.  Barbara,  with  quick  instinct,  felt  that  the 
Boy  had  sacrificed  his  dear  freedom  for  her  sake.  She 
cast  about  in  her  mind  for  some  means  of  releasing  him. 
Just  then  she  saw  Waring  making  his  way  toward  her, 
and  she  half  rose  from  her  chair. 

"I've  been  looking  for  you  everywhere.  I  want  to 
take  you  to  the  supper-room." 

Barbara  turned  to  the  Boy. 

"You  were  good,"  she  said;  "but  you'll  manage 
better  without  me. ' ' 

He  reached  out  his  hand. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said  heartily,  then  blushed  as  he 
realized  the  warmth  of  his  gratitude.  "You  don't  mis- 
understand!" he  added. 

"I  understand  perfectly,"  Barbara  said,  and  the 
light  of  her  smile  passed  into  his  own  boyish  eyes. 

Waring  looked  on  amused.  He  never  expected  Dr. 
Penf old's  ward  to  act  like  the  other  little  freshmen. 
Everything  she  did  and  said  seemed  characterized  by  a 
certain  clarity,  as  of  early  morning  light.  She  reminded 
him  of  a  young,  visionary  boy.  Between  herself  and 
him  an  impersonal  relationship  existed  which  contained 

84 


A   TURN    OF    THE    ROAD 

no  element  of  sex.  During  these  months  he  had  fre- 
quently been  her  guide  to  the  beautiful  walks  and  places 
which  abounded  about  Hallworth.  On  these  excursions 
he  had  been  chiefly  conscious  of  her  delight  in  nature, 
of  her  fearlessness,  and  her  absolute  freedom  from  little 
feminine  tricks  of  speech  and  manner.  She  talked  well 
of  the  things  she  knew  well,  but  her  capacity  for  silence 
was  great.  She  spoke  little  of  her  past,  but  at  times  War- 
ing caught  glimpses  of  that  still,  richly  colored  world 
in  which  her  long  childhood  had  been  spent.  It  lay 
back  of  her  quiet  grief,  like  a  landscape  steeped  in  the 
tints  of  sunset.  Waring  thought  she  sometimes  acted  as 
if  Hallworth  were  a  dream  to  her  and  that  vanished  life 
with  an  old  scholar  were  the  only  reality  she  knew.  Yet 
she  was  no  mystic.  Her  sudden,  passionate  delight  in  a 
flower,  in  a  tree,  catching  the  last  light  of  the  sun;  her 
abundant  joy  in  sun  and  air,  revealed  to  him  a  tempera- 
ment where  sense  and  spirit  blended  imperceptibly,  pe- 
culiarly susceptible  to  enchantments,  and  yielding  up 
with  lavish  generosity  the  gratitude  of  the  enchanted. 

He  noticed  to-night  a  change  in  her  appearance.  She 
had  more  color  than  usual  and  her  eyes  were  bright. 
An  intangible  atmosphere  of  femininity,  never  before 
perceived  by  Waring,  surrounded  her. 

''You  are  happy  to-night,"  he  said,  as  they  made 
their  way  toward  the  supper-room. 

"I  have  been  with  a  friend  who  was  very  happy," 
she  answered. 

"This  is  your  first  appearance  at  one  of  these  af- 
fairs, isn't  it?" 

"Quite  my  first." 

"How  do  you  like  it!" 

85 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

"It's  pretty  and  gay  to  look  at." 

"These  things  haven't  as  much  character  and  color 
as  they  had  even  five  years  ago.  They  might  be  in  New 
York  as  well  as  in  Hallworth,"  Waring  said. 

He  guided  her  to  a  corner  of  the  supper-room.  Dut- 
ton  joined  them,  and  bending  down,  said  to  Barbara: 
"This  is  your  delmt.  You're  going  to  learn  to  dance 
soon,  so  that  we  can  take  you  to  the  hops. ' ' 

"No,  Miss  Dale  is  not  going  to  be  turned  into  an 
average  freshman,"  Waring  said.    "Heaven  forbid!" 

"What  am  I  to  be?"  she  asked,  looking  from  one 
to  the  other  with  a  smile. 

A  gallant  speech  rose  to  Waring 's  lips,  but  he 
checked  it. 

At  that  moment  a  servant  approached  them  to  say 
that  a  messenger  from  Dr.  Penf old's  was  in  the  hall  and 
wished  to  speak  with  Miss  Dale.  They  found  Mehitabel, 
her  brows  wrinkled  in  a  frown  of  anxiety.  Half  an 
hour  before  Dr.  Penfold  had  slipped  on  an  icy  pave- 
ment and  broken  his  right  arm  and  wrist. 


86 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A  RIVAL  OP  MATHEMATICS. 

Waring  and  Barbara  found  Dr.  Penfold  pacing  up 
and  down  his  study,  awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  physi- 
cian. He  was  trembling  with  excitement,  the  result, 
Barbara  thought  at  first,  of  shock. 

''What  am  I  to  do?"  he  burst  out,  as  they  entered. 
"Could  anything  be  more  unfortunate,  with  that  text- 
book promised  the  publishers  for  the  first  of  May! 
March— April— why,  it  will  take  two  whole  months  for 
this  wretched  arm  to  heal.  If  that  piece  of  ice  had  only 
been  at  the  left  of  the  walk ! ' ' 

"Please  sit  down,"  Barbara  said.  "You  must  keep 
quiet  or  you'll  do  it  more  injury." 

She  led  him  to  an  armchair,  and,  doubling  up  a 
steamer-rug,  put  it  under  the  broken  arm  for  support. 
He  looked  up  at  Waring  pitifully. 

"Waring,  I've  always  led  a  sober  and  temperate 
life.    Why  should  I  have  such  a  visitation  ? ' ' 

Waring  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed. 

"Doctor,  it's  the  irony  of  fate.  Only  yesterday  I 
saw  a  drunken  man  pick  his  crazy  steps  gravely  down 
the  Westhill  road,  and  it  was  a  glare  of  ice!  He  didn't 
fall  once." 

"Yes,  and  probably  he  went  home  and  beat  his  wife 
with  both  fists,"  Dr.  Penfold  groaned;  "and  here  am  I 
with  my  good  arm  crippled  and  a  book  to  finish  on 
time!" 

87 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

"Couldn't  you  finish  it  with  the  aid  of  two  aman- 
uenses, Miss  Dale  and  myself?" 

"Oh,  please,  yes!"  Barbara  cried,  lifting  up  a  red 
face  from  the  fire,  over  which  she  was  bending  to  heat 
some  water  for  the  swollen  wrist.  "You  must  let  us 
do  the  manual  work. ' ' 

"But  you  are  not  a  mathematician,  child,"  Dr.  Pen- 
fold  said  in  a  gentle  voice. 

"But  Mr.  Waring  is.  What  he  worked  out  I  could 
copy." 

"Well,  well.  I  suppose  I'll  manage  somehow. 
Don't  think  me  ungracious,  but  I've  always  done  my 
work  myself.  I  slipped  in,  front  of  Leonard's  house. 
His  pavement  is  never  cleaned  properly.  I  wonder  how 
he  'd  like  to  break  his  arm  in  the  middle  of  his  history ! ' ' 

' '  He  has  already  ruined  his  digestion,  Doctor, ' '  War- 
ing said  soothingly. 

"Well,  I  don't  wish  him  anything  worse.  You're 
too  good  to  me,  Barbara.    You're  a  born  nurse." 

"Let  Miss  Dale  do  the  nursing  and  me  the  figuring, 
then  dedicate  the  book  to  us. ' ' 

"It  would  be  too  dry  a  tribute  to  your  good  affec- 
tions. Thank  you,  my  dear.  Now,  Waring,  if  you 
really  mean  it  we'll  go  to  work  at  once— to-morrow,  if 
we  can.    Barbara,  do  you  write  a  clear  hand  ? ' ' 

The  next  two  months  were  for  Barbara  the  pleas- 
antest  she  had  known  since  her  coming  to  Hallworth. 
In  working  for  Dr.  Penfold  she  seemed  to  live  again  in 
the  past.  It  was  only  when  she  sat  hour  after  hour  in 
his  study  that  she  realized  what  a  slight  hold  the  Uni- 
versity life  had  upon  her.     Even  Elizabeth  King  and 

88 


A   RIVAL    OF    MATHEMATICS 

the  Emperor  became  less  themselves  than  student  types. 
Her  class-work  sank  into  insignificance  compared  with 
the  importance  of  her  guardian's  book.  That  she  did 
not  fall  very  far  behind  in  her  studies  was  owing  chiefly 
to  her  thorough  acquaintance  with  Greek  and  Latin.  In 
the  other  departments  she  managed  to  keep  up  with  the 
rest,  her  hidden  but  profound  indifference  to  the  Uni- 
versity standard  of  scholarship  serving  her,  by  a  kind 
of  paradox,  the  office  of  enthusiasm. 

Waring,  watching  her  during  these  days  they  were 
thrown  so  much  together,  wondered  at  her  deep  con- 
tentment in  what  to  him,  even  with  his  mathematical 
knowledge,  seemed  for  the  most  part  dry  and  tedious 
work.  He  came  to  the  conclusion  at  last  that  Barbara 
was  happy  because  in  the  atmosphere  of  Dr.  Penf old's 
house  she  was  not  called  upon  to  be  youthful.  The 
obligation  to  be  youthful  had  oppressed  her  in  the  life 
of  Stafford  Hall.  From  fulfilling  this  obligation  she 
had  been  withheld  by  a  long  childhood  spent  with  a 
middle-aged  man,  and  by  grief.  Grief,  Waring  thought, 
could  make  even  a  child  older  than  the  Pyramids. 

The  day  came  at  last  when  the  book  was  finished, 
the  event  being  celebrated  by  a  little  dinner  which  the 
author  gave  to  his  two  faithful  assistants.  Late  in  the 
afternoon  Waring  and  Barbara  tied  up  the  precious 
manuscript,  sealing  the  cords  with  many  splutters  of 
aggressive  scarlet  wax.  They  agreed  that  the  father 
and  god-parents  of  the  work  should  each  have  a  share 
in  addressing  the  package,  so  it  went  off  to  the  express 
bearing  Dr.  Penf  old's  close,  precise  writing,  Waring 's 
larger,  rounder  letters,  and  Barbara's  somewhat  stiff 
and  angular  hand. 

89 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

They  had  champagne  at  the  dinner,  and  toasted  the 
book  in  more  merriment  than  Waring  had  ever  witnessed 
under  Dr.  Penf old's  roof. 

"I  think  I  am  a  very  fortunate  person,"  Barbara 
said.  "I  have  seen  four  books  made  and  launched  into 
the  world,  three  of  Uncle  Robert's  and  one  of  Uncle 
Amos 's. ' ' 

They  had  called  him  " Uncle  Amos"  through  these 
weeks  of  assistantship,  which  had  been  characterized  for 
the  most  part  by  a  certain  friendly  gaiety  of  spirit  under 
the  serious  work  of  the  hour.  Waring  was  surprised, 
therefore,  when  Dr.  Penfold  turned  to  Barbara  with  a 
deprecating  look. 

"Please,  Barbara,  do  not  call  me  l Uncle  Amos'  to- 
night. I  want  to  feel  that  I  am  not  altogether  removed 
from  your  youth — yours  and  Waring 's." 

"It  isn't  that!"  Barbara  stammered,  being  taken 
wholly  by  surprise.  "But  you  are  so  learned,  and  you 
have  written  such  great  works,  and  Mr.  Waring  and  I— 
we  have  done  nothing!" 

"It  is  the  sign  of  our  admiration  and  affection," 
Waring  said.  "Please  don't  put  us  back  to  Dr.  Pen- 
fold." 

"Never;  but  you  make  me  feel  like  an  octogenarian, 
you  two  with  your  insolent  youth,  and  I  am  only  forty- 
five!" 

He  smiled  as  he  spoke,  but  there  was  a  note  of  pro- 
test in  his  voice  which  made  his  words  serious.  Waring, 
hiding  his  surprise,  answered  jestingly: 

"Years  have  nothing  to  do  with  it,  have  they,  Miss 
Dale!  Two  things  preserve  youth— make  youth— love 
and  enthusiasm." 

90 


A   RIVAL    OF    MATHEMATICS 

A  faint  flush  overspread  Dr.  Penf old's  face.  He 
said  nothing.  Barbara  looked  up  quickly.  Waring  had 
a  way  of  stimulating  her  thoughts. 

"And  religion!"  she  added. 

' '  Why  religion ! ' '  Waring  asked. 

"Because  it  has  to  do  with  eternity,  and  isn't  the 
eternal  always  young?" 

"When  it  is  on  Parnassus,  yes.  When  it  is  on  Cal- 
vary, no,"  he  answered.  "  'Apollo's  summer  look'  al- 
ways; but  the  crucifix— how  old  in  spirit  Christ  must 
have  been  to  be  willing  to  give  himself  up ! " 

"Waring,  you're  a  mystic  at  heart." 

"No;  I'm  only  tired  of  mathematics  to-night." 

"So  am  I !  For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  am  tired 
of  mathematics,"  Dr.  Penf  old  said,  with  a  certain  wistful 
accent.  "I  wonder  what  is  the  matter  with  me?"  he 
added. 

"By  the  same  token,  it's  May-day,"  Waring  said 
gaily.  "And  I  vote  we  stop  this  dinner  just  here,  and 
go  the  three  of  us  to  the  knoll,  to  see  a  Spring  moon- 
rise.  ' ' 

Dr.  Penfold  knit  his  brows. 

"That  is  a  good  idea,  Waring— but,  Barbara, 
wouldn't  it  be  pleasant  to  have  Allaire,  too?  I  can 
send  Mehitabel  in  with  a  message.  Allaire  is  a  good 
walker."  „ 

"I  should  love  to  have  Allaire." 

"Let  me  go  after  Miss  Sordello,"  Waring  said,  ris- 
ing. The  look  of  astonishment  had  passed  from  his  face, 
but  he  wanted  a  moment  for  reflection.  He  could  not 
understand  why  Dr.  Penfold  should  send  for  Allaire. 
Surely  it  was  not  a  question  of  chaperonage.     Waring 

91 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

laughed  aloud  at  the  idea.  Chaperonage  had  never 
been  dreamed  of  during  these  weeks  when  Barbara  spent 
hour  after  hour  with  the  two  men.  No  one  had  thought 
anything  of  it.  No  one  could  think  anything  of  it.  Hall- 
worth  was  noted  for  its  atmosphere  of  innocent  freedom 
in  social  matters.  Alma  Mater,  after  warning  her  chil- 
dren not  so  much  to  forget  their  sex  as  to  remember  their 
intellects,  gave  no  more  care  to  the  matter,  being  con- 
fident that  the  curriculum  was  severe  enough  to  make 
large  demands  on  the  vital  force,  leaving  only  sufficient 
for  the  most  harmless  kind  of  romance.  Besides,  Dr. 
Penfold  had  always  been  regarded  as  a  kind  of  imper- 
sonal product,  an  old  scholar  wedded  to  his  work,  as 
St.  Francis  had  married  poverty. 

"And  yet  he's  only  forty -five,"  Waring  thought. 
"What  makes  him  seem  so  old?    It  must  be  his  spirit." 

He  found  Dutton  with  Allaire  in  the  drawing-room. 
Dutton  looked  very  happy  and  Allaire  cross. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Richard,  0  mon  Roi,"  she 
said,  holding  out  a  languid  little  hand.  "Your  good 
friend  Jonathan  Dutton  has  been  boring  me  half  to 
death  with  an  account  of  your  virtues." 

"Save  me  from  my  friends!  Go  get  your  hat,  Al- 
laire; I've  come  to  take  you  for  a  moonlight  walk." 

"What  will  we  do  with  our  mutual  friend?"  she 
said,  roguishly  glancing  at  Dutton. 

"Oh,  this  isn't  to  be  a  picnic  a  deux,  I'm  sorry  to 
say.  Dr.  Penfold  and  Barbara— Miss  Dale— are  com- 
ing!" 

"Dr.  Penfold  taking  a  moonlight  walk!  Whatever 
has  happened?" 

"Is  he  renewing  his  youth?"  Dutton  asked. 
92 


A    RIVAL    OF    MATHEMATICS 

"Did  he  ever  have  any  to  renew?"  said  Waring. 
"He's  beginning  his  youth,  I'm  thinking.  Dutton,  run 
over  and  beg  Mrs.  Joyce  to  come  with  us— there's  a 
dear  fellow.    She's  always  ready  for  anything." 

1 !  That  will  make  just  six. ' ' 

"What  a  mathematician  you  are,  Dutton!  And  six 
can  be  divided  into  three  parts  of  two  each." 

"Who'll  take  Amos?"  said  Allaire,  irreverently. 
"Oh,  I  will!  I'm  an  old  neighbor  and  I  helped  bring 
him  up." 

"And  this  is  the  way  you  speak  of  a  member  of  the 
Royal  Society!"  Waring  said. 

"How  can  you  stand  in  awe  of  a  person  you  were 
born  next  door  to, ' '  she  answered  wearily. 

In  a  few  moments  Dutton  and  Mrs.  Joyce  joined 
them. 

"You're  a  duck,  Richard  Waring,"  she  said. 
"You've  saved  my  life.  Herbert  was  just  opening  my 
milliner's  bill,  and  I  was  just  telling  him  what  an  aw- 
fully nice  thing  the  President  had  said  about  him  at 
the  Goodwin  reception,  when  in  walked  Mr.  Dutton, 
and  I  escaped." 

"We  are  going  to  stop  for  Dr.  Penfold  and  Miss 
Dale." 

"Dr.  Penfold  going  for  a  moonlight  walk!  Why, 
this  is  unprecedented." 

' '  Strange,  but  true. ' ' 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  see  Miss  Dale  again.  She  inter- 
ested me.  I  understand  she  did  a  great  deal  of  work 
on  the  book." 

"She  was  a  trump,"  Waring  said  heartily.  "We 
got  it  off  to-day. ' ' 

93 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

Dr.  Penfold  seemed  pleased,  but  rather  embarrassed, 
by  the  number  of  people  who  were  to  accompany  him 
to  the  knoll.  There  was  a  certain  shyness  in  his  man- 
ner, as  if  he  were  not  quite  sure  of  himself. 

"Will  you  walk  with  me?"  he  said  to  Barbara,  in 
the  hesitating  way  which  for  some  days  past  she  had 
noticed  when  he  addressed  her.  "I  really  wish  to  enjoy 
this  May-night,  and  with  you  I  can  be  silent." 

He  started  off  at  a  brisk,  nervous  pace.  Waring,  put- 
ting Mrs.  Joyce's  wrap  about  her,  looked  after  him 
in  wonder. 

"You  see,"  Allaire  said,  "my  charitable  designs 
were  frustrated.    He  evidently  prefers  Miss  Dale." 

"Run  along  with  Mr.  Dutton,"  Mrs.  Joyce  said.  "I 
wish  to  talk  with  Mr.  Waring  about  the  Decline  and 
Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire. ' ' 

Allaire  laughed.  It  was  well  known  that  Mrs.  Joyce 
relieved  the  tedium  of  life  at  Hallworth  by  frank  co- 
quetries with  the  unmarried  older  students  and  younger 
members  of  the  Faculty.  She  said  she  earned  this  inno- 
cent pleasure  by  three  perfectly  cooked  meals,  to  say 
nothing  of  afternoon  tea  and  chafing-dish  suppers,  of- 
fered up  to  her  lord  and  master.  Herbert  Joyce,  whose 
good  temper  was  a  constant  witness  to  the  reputation  of 
his  wife's  table,  said  that  Phyllis  could  do  what  she 
pleased— he  was  too  happy  to  care. 

Her  piquant  brunette  face  was  upturned  now  to 
Waring 's. 

"Mr.  Waring,  you  have  the  eyes  of  a  saint,  the  lashes 
of  a  girl,  the  chin  of  a  general  and  the  mouth  of  a 
cynic.  Was  there  ever  a  more  misleading  combina- 
tion!" 

94 


A   RIVAL    OF    MATHEMATICS 

"I  am  simplicity  itself!" 

"I  haven't  known  you  from  your  freshman  year  to 
believe  that.    Tell  me,  do  you  like  Miss  Dale?" 

"Very  much." 

"What  kind  of  a  girl  is  she?" 

"Many  kinds,  I  should  say." 

"Please  don't  indulge  in  glittering  generalities. 
That  is  always  suspicious.  You've  certainly  seen  her 
enough  these  weeks  to  know  something  definite  about 
her." 

"Definite!    And  a  woman!" 

"Now,  don't  be  sarcastic  and  horrid.  Tell  me  what 
is  she  like?" 

"Rather  unusual,  I  think;  old-fashioned  and  aristo- 
cratic—and gentle." 

"Has  she  any  life — any  fire?" 

"Much  to  warm  one's  hands  by,  I  should  say— none 
to  destroy." 

They  walked  on  in  silence  for  a  moment,  then  Mrs. 
Joyce  said: 

"She  seems  to  appeal  to  Dr.  Penfold.  I  never  knew 
him  to  notice  a  woman  before." 

Her  words  fitted  in  so  exactly  with  his  own  train  of 
thought  that  for  a  moment  Waring  was  bewildered  with 
the  force  of  a  new  and  ugly  idea.  He  put  it  from  him 
at  once. 

"It  is  impossible!"  he  said  to  himself. 

"Nor  I,"  he  said  aloud.     "It  is  fortunate,  since  she 
is  his  ward.     Her  grief  and  her  former  training  have 
had  much  to  do  with  the  sympathy  between  them,  I 
think.    They  are  both  old  in  spirit." 
7  95 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

"Why  don't  you  teach  her  to  be  young?"  said  Mrs. 
Joyce. 

"I  mistrust  my  powers,"  Waring  answered  coldly. 
The  little  brunette  changed  the  subject. 

The  knoll  was  a  steep  hillock  rising  abruptly  from 
the  edge  of  the  ravine.  Its  summit  commanded  a  noble 
view  of  lake  and  valley  and  of  the  western  hills.  The 
moon  had  already  risen  when  the  little  party  arrived  at 
their  goal,  and  the  landscape  was  flooded  in  the  tender 
light.  Sweet  scents  of  the  earth  came  faintly  through 
the  'cool  air. 

"It  is  quite  imperative  that  we  now  meet  a  nymph, 
clothed  in  diaphanous  green,  and  with  crocuses  about 
her  brow,"  Mrs.  Joyce  said  gaily. 

"She  would  have  pneumonia  before  morning,"  said 
Waring. 

"And  so  will  we  unless  we  keep  moving,"  Dutton 
said.     "This  ground  feels  like  a  sponge." 

"Dr.  Penfold  is  evidently  bent  on  exploration,"  said 
Allaire.  "Let  us  follow  him.  Mrs.  Joyce,  will  you  take 
charge  of  Mr.  Dutton?  I  wish  to  talk  to  Mr.  Waring 
about  the  Origin  of  Species. ' ' 

She  took  his  left  hand  in  her  right,  and  ran  down 
the  knoll  like  a  wild  thing,  but,  arrived  at  its  base,  her 
grave  manner  enveloped  her  again. 

1  ■  There 's  no  use  trying  to  be  young, ' '  she  said  wear- 
ily.   "Where  are  our  guides?" 

Waring  paused. 

"I  think  they  went  toward  that  clump  of  trees," 
he  said.  "I  hope  Miss  Dale  has  her  wits  about  her. 
Dr.  Penfold  might  walk  her  straight  into  the  ravine. 

96 


A   RIVAL    OF    MATHEMATICS 

A  misstep  of  three  hundred  feet  would  probably  be 
fatal." 

* '  Yes ;  there  are  ugly  places  there. ' ' 

They  made  their  way  to  the  edge  of  the  gorge,  ser- 
rated with  long,  horrid  gaps  and  fissures  in  the  over- 
hanging rocks.  On  one  of  these  sharp  projections  Dr. 
Penfold  and  Barbara  were  seated,  apparently  silent, 
gazing  down  the  ravine  to  the  moonlit  valley. 

' 'Don't  let  us  disturb  them,"  Allaire  said  dryly. 
"Let  us  sit  down  and  watch  that  they  don't  fall  over." 

Mrs.  Joyce  and  Dutton  joined  them. 

"What  made  you  come  to  this  ugly  spot?"  she  said. 
"Are  you  all  contemplating  suicide?" 

"No;  we  are  keeping  watch  on  an  absent-minded 
mathematician.  It  would  be  just  like  Dr.  Penfold  to 
walk  into  the  ravine  and  make  us  all  a  lot  of  trouble." 

Dr.  Penfold,  oblivious  of  the  four  spectators,  was 
telling  Barbara  slowly,  and  with  long  pauses  between, 
the  story  of  his  almost  friendless  childhood,  and  of  his 
early  struggles.  She  was  listening  with  grave  attention, 
sometimes  interposing  a  word  of  sympathy  or  of  admira- 
tion. The  realization  of  what  a  solitary  and  strenuous 
life  the  man  at  her  side  had  led  was  beginning  to  stir 
her  with  a  strange  tenderness,  a  new  pity.  She  remem- 
bered how  often  she  had  heard  the  ready  sophomoric 
jest  about  his  peculiarities,  and  her  cheeks  burned  with 
a  sudden  zeal  of  championship.  What  did  the  young, 
assured  things,  with  their  lives  made  easy  for  them, 
know  of  the  sacrifices  of  scholarship,  the  long,  painful 
path  of  achievement  trodden  alone,  the  days  and  nights 
of  herculean  labor?  Her  uncle  had  had  a  comfort- 
able home  from  his  boyhood.    The  ghost  of  necessity  had 

97 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

never  haunted  the  precincts  of  his  study;  but  this  man 
had  starved  his  way  through  Hallworth,  had  done  day- 
labor  to  earn  his  tuition. 

Barbara's  imagination,  once  aroused,  was  lavish  in 
its  response.  Though  she  did  not  know  it,  the  hard 
work  of  the  past  weeks  had  told  upon  her  physically. 
She  was  tired,  and  therefore  more  ready  to  back  her 
imagination  with  her  emotions.  Tears  stood  in  her  eyes 
now  as  Dr.  Penfold  spoke  of  an  illness  of  his  senior  year 
which  had  threatened  to  imperil  his  hardly  won  suc- 
cess. When  he  had  finished  his  story  he  turned  to  her, 
a  gentle  apology  in  his  eyes. 

' 1 1  never  told  this  to  any  one  before.  But  then  there 
was  never  any  one  I  wanted  to  tell  it  to. ' ' 

A  slight  flush  overspread  Barbara's  face. 

•I  am  glad  you  can  trust  me  enough  to  tell  me." 

At  that  moment  Waring  interrupted  them. 

"Dear  Doctor,"  he  said,  "the  spring  nights  are  too 
chill  for  sitting  about,  and  you  might  take  cold  in  your 
arm.    The  others  are  turning  back. ' ' 

Dr.  Penfold  looked  up,  bewildered. 

"Why,  Waring,"  he  said;  "where  did  you  come 
from?" 


98 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  NAPOLEONIC  FLOWER. 

In  the  section  of  the  country  in  which  Hallworth  was 
situated  Spring  did  not  come  shyly  and  with  delicate, 
impalpable  forewarnings,  but  rushed  in  passionately  with 
its  gifts  of  warmth  and  fairy  light  and  color.  The 
diaphanous  green  veil  thickened  in  one  rich  day  of  sun- 
shine to  summer  foliage. 

Dr.  Penfold  sat  at  his  desk,  vainly  trying  to  fix  his 
mind  upon  his  work.  His  study  windows  were  open, 
admitting  a  flood  of  light  and  air  heavy  with  the  scent 
of  blossoms.  Yet  in  this  mood  it  seemed  less  physical 
than  an  uncharted  wind  of  the  spirit,  bringing  with  it 
strange  perfumes  and  memories  of  other  lands.  He  re- 
viewed his  life,  as  he  had  reviewed  it  that  first  night 
of  May  for  Barbara.  How  empty  it  had  been  after  all, 
a  barren,  intellectual  struggle  for  the  unfathomable! 
On  this  soft  Spring  day  the  mysterious  power  of  mathe- 
matics had  no  charm  for  him.  He  yearned  for  a  youth 
he  had  never  known. 

An  antique  mirror  hung  above  the  fireplace.  He 
rose  and  went  over  to  it,  looked  at  himself  and  blushed. 

"What  a  fool  I  am!"  he  muttered.  "There  is  no 
fool  like  an  old  fool." 

The  silence  of  the  house  oppressed  him.  To  forget 
it  he  took  up  his  work  again.  For  twenty  minutes  he 
bent  over  it  disconsolately,  then  he  threw  down  his  pen. 

"It  is  no  use,"  he  said.  "I  will  go  for  a  walk  with 
Barbara. ' ' 

99 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

Barbara  experienced  a  keen  pleasure  in  these  walks 
with  her  guardian,  which  had  become  almost  a  daily  oc- 
currence of  the  month  of  May.  Since  the  evening  he  had 
told  her  of  his  life,  the  emotion  of  pity,  then  born,  had 
grown  stronger  and  more  comprehensive;  inclusive,  in- 
deed, of  a  very  real  tenderness.  She  had  a  protecting 
feeling  toward  him,  as  toward  one  maimed  by  circum- 
stances and  deprived  of  some  natural  heritage. 

"He  has  not  even  had  time  to  look  at  nature,"  she 
thought,  and  she  took  a  keen  delight  in  guiding  him  to 
her  favorite  places  through  the  beautiful  country  over 
which  the  towers  of  Hallworth  reigned.  One  day,  when 
the  lake  was  as  smooth  as  glass,  she  persuaded  him  to 
let  her  row  him  to  a  point  from  which  a  fine  view  of  the 
University  could  be  obtained.  Arrived  there  they  moored 
the  little  boat,  and  seated  themselves  on  a  fallen  log  in 
the  Spring  sunshine. 

"I  used  to  rowvIIncle  Robert,  when  I  could  coax  him 
out  of  his  study." 

"Did  he  not "    Dr.  Penfold  hesitated.    "Did  he 

not  have  a  disappointment  in  his  youth?" 

"A  woman  he  loved  was  untrue  to  him,"  Barbara 
said  simply,  as  if  repeating  an  historical  statement. 

"Still-he  loved." 

She  looked  up  surprised.  Her  guardian  seemed  to 
her  like  a  man  who  had  never  read  a  fairy-tale,  and  in 
consequence  knew  nothing  of  romance.  Her  own  con- 
ception of  love  was  linked  less  with'  her  contemporaries 
who  were  marrying  and  giving  in  marriage  than  with 
forgotten  castles,  enchanted  princesses,  strange  quests 
and  magic  dawns  upon  the  fairest  of  all  undiscovered 
countries.     To  her  love  was  half -divine,  half -fairy   in 

100 


THE    NAPOLEONIC   FLOWER 

character,  touching  on  one  side  the  mysterious  romances 
of  the  Grail,  with  their  wealth  of  mystic  aspiration ;  .on 
the  other,  the  tales  of  enchantment,  haunted  by  gnome 
and  elf. 

"Still— he  loved,"  Dr.  Penfold  repeated,  his  clear 
blue  eyes  fixed  upon  the  western  sky.  "It  may  be  pos- 
sible that  many  of  us  miss  happiness.  I  sometimes 
think,"  he  added,  "that  the  only  debt  we  owe  the 
gods  is  joy.  Barbara,  are  you  happier  now— at  Hall- 
worth  V 

"I'm  much  happier  since  I've  been  of  some  use," 
she  said  frankly.  "I  was  happy  helping  a  little  with 
the  book." 

"And  the  University?  Will  you  wish  to  come  back 
next  year  1 ' ' 

She  smiled. 

"Hallworth  may  not  want  me.  I  may  not  pass  all 
the  examinations." 

"Would  you  care  much  if  you  didn't?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Not  for  myself.  I  should  not  wish  to  discredit 
you." 

"Ah,  that  would  not  matter.  I  am  sick  of  mere 
knowledge. ' ' 

He  looked  at  her  wistfully,  but  she  was  gazing 
toward  Hallworth. 

A  silence  fell  upon  them.  It  did  not  seem  to  embar- 
rass Barbara.  She  reached  over  and  gathered  some  vio- 
lets growing  at  her  feet. 

Suddenly  Dr.  Penfold  spoke. 

"Barbara,  I  love  you  more  than  I  have  ever  loved 
any  human  being.    Will  you  marry  me?" 

101 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

She  looked  up,  knitting  her  brows  as  if  she  had  not 
heard  aright.    Dr.  Penfold  went  on  stumblingly. 

"Will  you— come  to  me— bring  my  youth  to  me— 
the  youth— I  never  had?    I  am  lonely." 

Then  Barbara  spoke. 

"Do  you  want  me— really  want  me?"  she  said  ear- 
nestly. 

"Do  I!" 

She  knit  her  brows  again,  as  she  always  did  when 
thinking  hard. 

"But  I  am  not  sure  that  I  love  you  enough  to  make 
you  happy,"  she  said  slowly  and  reflectively.  "I  do 
care  very  much  for  you — you  have  been  good  to  me ;  but 
if  I  did  not  make  you  happy  I  should  never  forgive 
myself,  and  you  would  be  worse  off  than  ever." 

He  smiled. 

' '  Barbara,  you  could  not  help  but  make  me  happy ! '  • 

She  looked  across  the  shining  waters  of  the  lake. 

"I  wish  my  mother  had  not  died.  There  are  so 
many  things  that  one  can  ask  only  one 's  mother. ' ' 

"It  is  then— 'yes,'  Barbara?" 

"Oh,  do  not  let  us  talk  any  more  about  it  to-day," 
she  said,  the  first  emotion  she  had  shown  breaking  her 
voice.  "I  want  to  make  you  happy,  but  do  not  let  us 
talk  any  more  about  it  to-day." 

"Give  me  a  flower  at  least,  Barbara,  to  keep  till  I 
may  speak  again." 

She  drew  some  violets  from  the  bunch  she  had 
gathered  and  handed  them  to  him. 

"They  are  scentless,"  he  said;  "and  were  they  not 
Napoleon's  flower,  dear?    Give  me  something  else." 

She  looked  about  her. 

102 


THE    NAPOLEONIC   FLOWER 

"I  see  nothing  but  violets  everywhere.  Wait,  let  me 
see  if  there  is  not  another  flower  in  all  this  wood." 

She  wandered  away  from  him,  relieved  to  be  a  mo- 
ment by  herself.  A  line  of  verse  she  had  once  read 
went  through  her  brain,  "Oh,  violets  for  the  grave  of 
youth."  The  ground  was  purple  with  them.  She 
turned  back  at  last. 

Dr.  Penfold  was  bending  over,  his  gray  head  buried 
in  his  hands.  Something  in  his  attitude  of  dejection,  in 
the  premature  look  of  age,  recalled  all  that  he  had  told 
her  of  his  long,  lonely  struggles.  A  passionate  tender- 
ness welled  up  in  her,  swept  her  for  a  moment  out  of 
herself.    She  went  to  his  side  quickly. 

"I  could  not  find  other  flowers  to  give  you.  I  must 
give  you  myself." 


103 


CHAPTER  XL 

AN  INTERLUDE. 

Mrs.  Maturin  was  giving  a  dinner-party  to  the 
President  of  Hallworth,  and  Waring  and  Perceval  were 
among  the  guests.  Waring  had  arrived  late,  being  de- 
tained by  a  chance  meeting,  and  an  important  conversa- 
tion with  Barbara  which  had  aroused  in  him  the  sensa- 
tion of  losing  something  that  he  never  knew  he  pos- 
sessed. Mrs.  Maturin— ''Athena,"  as  her  intimate 
friends  called  her— noticed  his  pallor  and  whispered  her 
hope  that  he  was  quite  well. 

"Quite  well,  and  very  much  ashamed  of  myself  for 
being  late,"  he  answered. 

"You  are  to  take  Miss  Ravenel  in,"  said  his  hostess. 

Waring  smiled. 

"You  are  always  good  to  me." 

Between  himself  and  Mrs.  Maturin  there  had  grown 
that  winter  a  friendship  untroubled  by  the  specter  of 
isex.  All  the  sanity  of  grief  was  in  her  grave  attitude 
toward  life.  The  impersonal  surrounded  her  like  a  sure 
but  impalpable  armor.  Waring  felt  that  of  her  own  will 
and  wish  she  made  it  easier  for  men  to  respect  than  to 
love  her. 

He  was  glad  that  he  was  to  take  Miss  Ravenel  in  to 
dinner.  He  had  once  described  her  to  Barbara  as 
young  in  years,  old  in  experience,  and  timeless  in  charm. 
He  watched  her  now  as  she  stood  talking  to  the  Presi- 
dent, and  contrasted  her  with  the  girl  he  had  just  left, 
who  had   left  him  with  an   ache  of  impotence  in  his 

104 


AN    INTERLUDE 

breast.  Miss  Ravenel  was  a  woman  of  the  world  by 
every  token  of  bearing  and  expression.  Pride,  less  of  the 
intellect  than  of  the  aristocratic  soul,  was  written  in  the 
lines  of  her  mouth,  and  in  the  curious,  fascinating  eyes, 
with  their  glance  which  took  so  much  and  returned  so 
little.  Of  her  history  he  knew  nothing,  but  divined  that 
she  had  built  up  much  of  her  charming  poise  on  a  foun- 
dation of  discarded  romance.  He  also  divined  that  ro- 
mance was  continually  drifting  her  way  through  the 
somewhat  winding  channels  of  university  life.  If  only 
Barbara  could  have  had  the  training  of  years  and  ex- 
perience !  The  news  which  he  had  just  heard  made  him 
sick  at  heart. 

Miss  Ravenel  had  evidently  penetrated  the  armor  of 
the  President's  aloof  manner  with  some  shaft  of  humor, 
or  apt  comment,  for  he  was  smiling  grimly,  as  if  in  self- 
mockery  of  his  response  to  her  charm.  Dinner  being 
announced,  Waring  went  up  to  her,  and  as  Dr.  Hunt 
turned  away  he  said : 

11  There  are  some  rare  occasions  when  a  mere  post- 
graduate has  the  advantage  of  a  university  president. 
This  is  one  of  them. ' ' 

"It  is  I  who  am  honored,"  she  answered,  smiling. 
"The  President  has  just  told  me  that  'the  mere  post- 
graduate' obtained  his  doctorate  to-day,  by  one  of  the 
most  brilliant  examinations  on  record.  I  congratulate 
you,  Mr.  Waring." 

"And  now  'ease  after  toil.'  I  do  believe  Mrs.  Mat- 
urin  gives  her  charming  dinners  in  the  character  of  a 
philanthropist.  At  least  she  accomplishes  the  same 
end."       „ 

"I  am  glad  you  believe  in  social  charities  to  one's 
105 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

peers.  The  prevailing  opinion  seems  to  be  that  one 
must  go  slumming  to  make  others  happy— what  a  beau- 
tiful table !' ' 

"Russian  violets  and  orchids!  If  it  is  charity,  it  is 
most  subtly  expressed." 

"As  charity  should  be— a  kind  of  moral  caress." 

The  soft  light  from  the  embowered  candles,  the 
elusive  perfumes  from  the  flowers,  from  the  dresses  of 
the  women,  began  to  quiet  his  spirit,  and  to  render  the 
events  of  the  day  dream-like,  the  long  tiring  examina- 
tion, the  meeting  with  Barbara  and  the  news  of  her  en- 
gagement. 

The  party  was  small  enough  to  admit  of  general 
conversation,  and  the  talk  drifted  to  the  case  of  a  stu- 
dent, a  junior,  who  had  been  recently  expelled,  and  to 
whom  his  class  had  rallied  as  one  man  in  a  petition  for 
his  reinstatement. 

"If  the  University  were  a  Sunday-school  or  a  social 
club,"  Dr.  Hunt  was  saying  dryly,  "we  should  be 
obliged  by  inexorable  logic  to  keep  him.  As  it  is 
neither,  we  fulfil  our  greatest  responsibility  to  Hall- 
worth  by  turning  him  out. ' ' 

"Then  you  do  not  believe  in  student  discipline?" 
Mrs.  Maturin  said. 

"Not  in  the  least.  If  they  are  in  need  of  discipline 
from  the  University  they  are  not  in  need  of  a  university 
education. ' ' 

Perceval  smiled. 

"It  is  good  to  have  at  least  one  well-defined  divi- 
sion of  those  who  are  not  in  need  of  a  university  edu- 
cation—would there  were  more!" 

"College  students  have  altogether  too  many  privi- 
106 


AN    INTERLUDE 

leges,"  Professor  Cartwright  said.  "They  come  to  think 
themselves  exempt  from  ordinary  decencies.  A  young 
man  behaves  like  a  ruffian,  and  his  entire  class  rally  to 
him,  because  he's  a  classmate  and  a  fraternity  brother. " 

"The  sentimentalisms  of  American  college  life  are 
the  chief  foes  to  a  true  college  spirit,"  Dr.  Hunt 
said. 

The  President  of  Hallworth  was  a  man  of  profound 
scholarship,  and,  to  the  students,  of  eccentric  personal- 
ity. Yet  though  they  resented  his  ill-concealed  indiffer- 
ence to  their  clear  ideals,  they  respected  him  because  of 
his  unwavering  justice  and  his  absolute  independence  of 
their  favor.  His  somewhat  medieval  and  intense  con- 
ception of  scholarship  and  its  solitary  joys  appealed  to 
them  in  spite  of  themselves.  Besides,  the  young  things 
forgave  much  to  a  man  who  knew  the  fine  breeds  of  dogs 
as  well  as  he  knew  his  special  subject,  early  Greek 
poetry.  A  splendid  litter  of  bull-pups,  sired  by  the 
President's  English  bull  Melampus,  had  been  the  latest 
bond  between  Dr.  Hunt  and  the  student  body ;  and  when 
the  president  of  the  senior  class  had  been  presented  with 
the  finest  of  the  litter,  the  glee-club  in  deep  gratitude 
had  serenaded  the  head  of  Hallworth.  Dr.  Hunt,  smok- 
ing a  black  cigar  in  his  study,  heard  the  strains  of 
"Drink,  puppy,  drink,"  beneath  his  window,  and 
smiled  over  his  Theocritus,  but  he  made  no  sign. 

"You  will  not  take  Williams  back,  then?"  Mrs.  Joyce 
said  daringly 

"Certainly  not," 

"But  the  junior  class?" 

"I  would  expel  the  entire  class  first.  And,  by  the 
way,  that  class  boasts  an  artist.    He  made  a  most  clever 

107 


THE    LAW    OF    LIFE 

caricature  of  me  and  pinned  it  up  on  the  Monroe  Hall 
bulletin-board.  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  see  it,  and  I 
have  sent  it  to  Moore  to  be  mounted  and  framed. ' ' 

''Was  there  no  clue  to  the  caricaturist V ' 

"Only  the  figures  of  the  junior  year.  I  should  like 
to  insert  a  line  in  the  Hallworth  Chronicle  inviting  him 
to  dinner.  I  should  then  advise  him  to  go  straight  to 
Paris— lend  him  the  money  if  necessary," 

' '  It  was  so  good  1 ■ ' 

"Inimitable." 

"Speaking  of  students,"  said  Mrs.  Joyce,  turning 
to  Perdita  Ravenel,  "did  you  know  that  Miss  Dale  is 
to  marry  her  guardian,  Dr.  Penf old  ? ' ' 

Mrs.  Maturin  looked  toward  the  speaker  in  astonish- 
ment. 

"Marry  Dr.  Penf  old!  That  little  girl.  It  can't  be 
possible ! ' ' 

' '  In  the  line  of  marriage  nothing  ever  surprises  me, '  ' 
Mrs.  Joyce  said.    "All  laws  break  down  there." 

A  shadow  came  into  Mrs.  Maturin 's  face. 

"Except  the  law  of  love,"  she  said,  half  under  her 
breath. 

Perceval,  who  had  been  gazing  at  her,  unconscious 
of  his  act,  now  turned  away  his  eyes.  A  realization 
swept  over  him  of  the  finality  of  his  hostess's  past. 
She  did  not  belong  to  the  class  of  women  who  seek  to 
reproduce  a  unique  experience,  and  because  of  this  there 
should  be  some  in  outer  darkness. 

"Tell  us,  Mr.  Waring,  is  this  true?"  Mrs.  Cart- 
wright  was  saying.  "I  believe  you  know  Miss  Dale  quite 
well." 

Waring  answered  stiffly.  He  was  conscious  of  trying 
108 


AN    INTERLUDE 

to  hide  something,  he  scarcely  knew  what— to  appear  in- 
different. 

"Is  it  true?"  said  Miss  Ravenel. 

"It  is  true.  I  congratulated  Miss  Dale  this  after- 
noon. ' ' 

1 '  The  marriage  will  never  come  off.  Dr.  Penf old  will 
forget,  as  he  did  before." 

"If  happiness  is  conducive  to  presence  of  mind  the 
marriage  will  come  off,"  Dr.  Hunt  said.  "I  saw  Dr. 
Penf  old  this  morning." 

"Well,  I  hope  he  will  be  happy,"  said  Mrs.  Cart- 
wright.    "He  has  had  a  hard  life— a  lonely  life." 

"But  she  is  so  young!"  said  Miss  Ravenel.  "Only 
twenty,  isn  't  she  ?    And  very  young  for  her  years. ' ' 

"Oh,  age  counts  nothing,"  said  Mrs.  Joyce. 

"I  don't  agree  with  you,"  Waring  said  impetuously. 
"All  marriages  between  ill-assorted  ages  should  be  for- 
bidden by  law." 

"I  should  say,  instead,"  said  Mrs.  Cartwright  dryly, 
"that  the  law  should  forbid  all  marriages  between  peo- 
ple of  ill-assorted  souls. ' ' 

Dr.  Hunt  smiled. 

"A  magnificent  plan  for  depopulating  the  world!" 

"Who  should  be  the  judges  of  the  qualified  souls?" 
Mrs.  Maturin  asked,  the  faint  shadow  still  in  her  face. 

"The  happiest  people,"  said  Mrs.  Joyce. 

"No;  those  who  have  suffered  most,"  Mrs.  Cart- 
wright  said. 

"You  are  both  wrong,"  Perdita  interposed.  "The 
judges  should  be  those  with  the  keenest  sense  of  hu- 
mor. ' ' 

' '  To  supply  the  chief  deficiency  of  the  lovers  ? ' '  War- 
109 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

ing  asked,  his  words  less  a  question  to  the  woman  at  his 
side  than  a  sop  to  something  snarling  within  him. 

"Come,  come,"  Mrs.  Maturin  said;  "I  cannot  allow 
such  a  riot  of  cynicism.  Mr.  Perceval,  will,  you  help  me 
bring  these  people  to  order  1 ' ' 

Perceval  smiled. 

"I  am  only  afraid  of  the  silences  of  my  friends. 
Since  they  have  spoken  they  are  safe. ' ' 

"Ah,  that  is  the  principle  which  justifies  the  con- 
fessional ! ' ' 

Waring  sipped  his  wine  and  thought  of  Barbara.  He 
wished  that  for  one  day  he  could  be  her  brother. 

Going  home  from  Mrs.  Maturin 's  he  met  Dutton, 
and  the  pent-up  astonishment  and  indignation  in  his 
breast  burst  out. 

"Married  to  Penfold!  To  Penfold,  that  mathemati- 
cal machine." 

"He's  only  forty-five." 

' '  He 's  got  a  soul  as  old  as  the  Pyramids.  He 's  waked 
up  for  the  instant,  yes — he  liked  her  companionship,  her 
help  with  that  confounded  book.  He's  stirred  for  a 
while  with  the  first  emotion  of  his  life— and  she's  the 
victim. ' ' 

"But  surely  he's  not  compelling  her  to  marry  him." 

"Look  here,  Dutton,  you  know  Barbara  Dale- 
brought  up  by  a  man,  a  recluse,  as  unworldly  as  she  is. 
From  him  she  comes  straight  to  Penfold 's  charge.  She 
doesn't  care  for  that  zoo,  that  woman's  hall.  She  sees 
her  old  life,  the  life  she  loved  best,  somehow  reproduced 
at  Penfold 's.  She's  at  her  ease  there.  He  asks  her  to 
marry  him,  and  straight  to  him  she  goes,  thinking  it's 
the  same  kind  of  life.     She  must  think  that,"  Waring 

110 


AN    INTERLUDE 

said  helplessly.  ' '  She  has  deep  affection  for  him,  that  I 
know— that  she  has  nothing  else  I  know  too.  I  spoke  to 
her  this  afternoon.  Don't  you  see  the  hateful  logic  of 
it J    She  doesn  't  know  what  she  is  doing ! ' ' 

"Who's  to  tell  her?"  Dutton  said  anxiously. 

Waring  smiled  in  spite  of  himself. 

"There's  nobody  to  tell  her.  She  knows  no  woman 
well  here,  and  if  she  did  what  in  thunder  could  a 
woman  say  to  a  girl  like  Miss  Dale  ? ' ' 

1  -  But  they  may  be  happy, ' '  said  Dutton,  who  was  al- 
ways disposed  to  look  at  things  cheerfully. 

' '  Oh,  yes ;  but  she  has  twenty  years  of  youth  to  dis- 
pose of,  while  Penfold  is  dealing  with  his  middle  age." 

"Perhaps  she  will  have  children,"  said  Dutton,  still 
pursuing  the  optimistic  line  of  thought. 

Waring  groaned. 

"Go  home  and  go  to  bed,  Dutton,  before  I  slay  you 
in  the  path.  For  the  sake  of  your  class  in  chemistry 
go  at  once." 

Barbara  was  sitting  alone  in  her  room  reading  a  little 
book  of  prayers  which  her  uncle  had  once  given  her  be- 
cause of  their  pure  and  stately  English.  The  emotions 
of  the  past  week  had  aroused  a  latent  mysticism  in  her, 
a  longing  to  pray.  Against  the  wide,  dim  background  of 
the  pantheistic  beliefs  in  which  she  had  been  reared,  a 
young  and  visionary  face  formed  itself  again  and  again. 
It  bore  a  likeness  to  the  face  of  Christ  once  seen  in  an 
old  print. 

She  closed  the  book  at  last,  and  going  to  the  window, 
looked  up  at  the  stars.  Where  had  they  gone,  the  souls 
of  her  parents— the  soul  of  her  uncle?  Did  they  still 
8  111 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

exist  ?  And  if  indeed  they  were  alive,  were  they  lonely v 
Or  did  some  hand  beckon  them  to  a  home,  a  place,  an 
ingle-nook  in  the  universe?  Who  was  their  Host?— the 
immanent  God! — how  often  her  uncle  had  used  that 
phrase,  turning  wistfully  from  the  anthropomorphic 
gods  of  the  multitude,  lest  he  should  miss  a  rarer  di- 
vinity! To-night  the  vague,  philosophical  deity  of 
Bruno,  of  Spinoza,  brought  no  comfort.  A  literal  and 
childish  longing  seized  her  for  a  god  visible  and  tangi- 
ble, nailed  where  one  could  touch  him,  bound  fast  to  the 
material  world  by  a  cross  of  wood  and  iron  nails.  She 
turned  out  the  light  and  sank  upon  her  knees  at  the 
bedside. 

She  remained  crouching  there  long  after  the  de- 
sire to  pray  had  passed  and  the  Face  had  faded.  De- 
spite her  efforts  tp  escape  it,  the  haunting  sense  that 
this  new  relation  with  Dr.  Penfold  was  not  for  her 
a  true  one  was  now  full  upon  her.  In  a  moment's 
impulse  she  had  pledged  herself  to  marry  him.  Her 
word  was  given.  The  most  sacred  of  all  promises 
had  passed  from  her  into  his  keeping.  Yet  now  she 
longed  to  turn  back.  The  very  promise  itself  had 
cleared  her  vision.  During  these  last  days  she  had 
caught  herself  again  and  again  thinking  that  she  must 
write  to  her  uncle  and  ask  him  to  let  her  come  home. 
Then  she  remembered!  She  must  go  forward  into  the 
new  life.  By  every  law  of  her  training  a  promise  lightly 
or  gravely  given  was  already  fulfilled.  The  possibility 
of  telling  Dr.  Penfold  the  truth,  of  asking  him  to  give 
her  back  her  impulsive  word,  never  even  occurred  to 
her.  What  she  had  said  she  had  said ;  and  the  dim  fear 
in  her  heart  was  no  messenger  of  release.    Between  the 

112 


AN    INTERLUDE 

old  world  of  her  childhood  gone  forever  and  the  new 
world  of  Hallworth  she  had  fallen,  and  he  had  caught 
her  to  his  breast.  To-night  she  felt  like  one  in  a  trap, 
suffocated,  and,  by  her  own  act,  helpless. 

She  rose  from  her  knees  and  turned  on  the  light 
again.  She  had  sent  word  to  the  Emperor  and  Eliza- 
beth to  come  to  her,  with  the  intention  of  announcing 
her  engagement  ^  to  them.  She  looked  in  the  mirror, 
dreading  lest  her  face  should  betray  her. 

A  knock  came  at  the  door,  and  the  Emperor  en- 
tered. 

"I  am  honored,"  she  said.  "The  situations  are  re- 
versed at  last,  and  Barbara  is  seeking  me." 

"I  always  wish  to  see  you,  Helena,"  Barbara  said 
gravely. 

"Elizabeth  sends  word  she  cannot  come  to-night,  but 
will  see  you  the  first  thing  in  the  morning.  What  is  the 
matter !    You  look  fagged ! ' ' 

"I  may  be  tired,  but  I  am  very  happy,"  Barbara 
said,  uttering  the  first  deliberate  lie  of  her  life.  "I  have 
sent  for  you  to  tell  you  why. ' ' 

"To  tell  me  why  you  are  happy!  This  must  be 
something  unusual. ' ' 

"It  is.  I  am  engaged  to  Dr.  Penfold.  We  are— we 
are  to  be  married  in  August." 

The  Emperor  regarded  her  a  moment  with  her  steady, 
impenetrable  gaze,  but  the  brightness  of  her  eyes  seemed 
dimmed.  Then  she  lifted  Barbara's  hand,  that  she  had 
taken,  to  her  lips  and  kissed  it,  turning  in  the  same  in- 
stant away. 

"I've  forgotten  something,"  she  said,  in  a  curious, 
restrained  voice.     "A  telephone  message  I  promised  to 

113 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

send.    I'm  coming  back  to  say  all  kinds  of  lovely  things 
to  you,  little  Barbara.  ■ ' 
But  she  did  not  return. 

Late  that  night  Miss  Eavenel,  still  wearing  her  din- 
ner-dress, was  seated  in  her  bed-room  looking  over  some 
letters.  Her  face  wore  an  amused  expression,  due  per- 
haps to  some  lingering  memories  of  the  conversation  at 
Mrs.  Maturin's  dinner.  Her  surface  sympathy  was  with 
the  comedy  of  life.  The  luxury  of  tragedy  she  rarely 
indulged  in. 

There  was  a  knock  at  her  door.  To  her  indifferent 
' '  Come  in ' '  it  opened  slowly.  Barbara  Dale  stood  in  the 
doorway,  looking  like  a  little  girl  in  her  long  white 
dressing-gown,  with  her  hair  in  a  braid  down  her  back. 
Her  face  was  white  and  tragic.  In  her  eyes  was  a  half- 
frightened  expression  that  Perdita  saw  even  through 
the  twilight  of  the  room. 

She  rose  and  drew  the  girl  in. 

"Are  you  ill— Barbara V 

Barbara  shivered. 

"No,  not  ill.  You  will  think  it  very  strange  of  me 
to  come  fo  you— this  way;  but  I— but  I— did  you  ever 
have  a  sudden  horror  of  being  alone  V9 

"What  sane  person  hasn't?"  Perdita  said,  the  ghost 
of  a  smile  on  her  lips.    She  was  beginning  to  understand. 

"It  was  so  with  me  to-night,  and  I  came  to  you.  I 
thought  you  could  understand— anything— anything!" 

Her  voice  broke.  The  overwrought  note  was  in  it, 
but  Perdita 's  quick  understanding  went  back  of  the  note, 
went  back  of  her  own  astonishment  at  the  girl's  words. 
The  comedy  was  suddenly  luminous,  and  by  its  light  she 

114 


AN    INTERLUDE 

saw  a  soul  struggling  under  the  weight  of  some  incom- 
municable burden.    She  drew  the  girl  to  a  divan. 

"Let  me  tuck  you  up  warm  here  while  I  read  you  a 
fairy-tale.  No,  don't  say  a  word!  I  have  known  fairy- 
tales to  change  the  fate  of  nations.  There  you  are— a 
good,  obedient  child ! ' ' 

She  read  her  the  story  of  the  Princess  and  the  Wild 
Swans.  Barbara  lay  staring  at  the  ceiling,  but  by  and 
by  the  tense  look  on  her  face  faded,  and  the  old  smile 
of  childhood  came  back. 


115 


BOOK    SECOND 
THE    WIFE. 


117 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A  FOUNDATION-STONE. 

The  town  of  Sparta  lay  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  on 
which  Hallworth  University  was  built.  That  it  had  ex- 
isted before  the  University  was  ever  thought  of  was  its 
chief  claim  to  distinction. 

It  still  bore  traces  of  its  early  dormant  period.  The 
one  business  street  had  lengthened  two  or  three  blocks 
since  the  foundation  of  Hallworth.  Houses  and  stores 
had  been  built  to  meet  the  needs  of  the  little  army 
which  descended  upon  Sparta  in  September  and  broke 
camp  in  June.  A  trolley-line  had  been  established,  an 
intricate  affair  which  looped  the  hill  and  valley  with 
many  switches,  involving  long  intervals  of  repose.  But 
aside  from  these  changes  the  town  retained  its  old-time 
quiet  look.  The  elm-shaded  streets  stretched  away  to  the 
hills  and  the  lake.  The  white-painted,  green-shuttered 
houses,  and  the  more  pretentious  residences  of  stone  and 
brick,  still  gave  the  impression  of  solidity  and  venerable 
ease,  untroubled  by  the  nervous  influences  of  Univer- 
sity existence. 

On  a  bright  October  afternoon,  a  year  after  "Waring 's 
return  to  Hallworth,  the  business  street  of  the  town 
swarmed  with  students.  Between  two  and  three  was  a 
favorite  hour  for  a  raid  upon  the  shops  for  every  kind 
of  commodity,  from  the  new  novels  to  sweaters.  A  large 
bookstore,  centrally  situated,  was  a  sort  of  general  in- 
telligence office  for  University  news  and  gossip.     Pro- 

119 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

fessors  and  students  waited  there  for  the  recalcitrant 
trolley.  The  latest  novels  and  magazines  were  always 
on  show.  Announcements  of  amusements,  games  and 
meetings  were  posted  in  conspicuous  places. 

One  announcement  hanging  there  had  been  supple- 
mented that  morning  by  a  liberal  distribution  on  the 
campus  and  at  the  doors  of  the  students'  dwelling-houses 
of  small  handbills  which  had  been  read  with  every 
variety  of  serious  and  frivolous  comment.  A  group  was 
gathered  now  about  the  impressive  poster  in  the  book- 
store. Its  message,  gaining  more  dignity  from  the  wide 
margins,  red  capitals  and  antique  black  type  than  the 
little  bills  could  lend,  was  to  the  effect  that  a  meeting 
would  be  held  in  the  opera-house  that  afternoon  for  the 
purpose  of  forming  a  Students'  Political  League  and 
founding  a  magazine,  conducted  by  the  students,  to 
voice  the  opinions  of  the  League  on  current  political 
topics.  By  whose  authority  these  events  were  to  tran- 
spire the  poster  omitted  to  say. 

A  sophomore,  the  centre  of  a  group,  wanted  to  know 
whether  the  unknown  responsible  for  the  poster  thought 
the  University  a  "damned  ladies'  club." 

"No  gentleman  meddles  with  politics,"  said  an  irre- 
proachable fraternity  man. 

"You  American  gentlemen  may  be  sorry  some  day 
that  you  didn't  meddle  with  politics." 

The  fraternity  man  wheeled  about  sharply,  then, 
when  he  saw  who  the  speaker  was,  his  manner  changed 
to  one  of  deference. 

"You  think  this  League  a  good  idea,  Professor  Chal- 
fonte?" 

Professor  Chalfonte  put  on  his  monocle  and  read  the 
120 


A    FOUNDATION-STONE 

poster  through  before  answering.     He  was  an  English- 
man lately  elected  to  the  chair  of  European  Literature. 

"My  dear  boy— of  course." 

"Heresy!"  said  a  deep  voice  behind  them.  The 
speaker,  Professor  Sordello,  was  also  a  foreigner,  and  he 
brought  out  the  "r"  with  a  peculiar  roll.  "What  do 
half-baked  youngsters  know  about  American  politics?" 

"But  you'll  admit  that  the  politics  of  this  country 
are  intricate  enough  to  call  for  special  study." 

"There's  but  one  key  to  them— money,"  Professor 
Leonard's  grating  voice  said  from  a  corner  where  he 
was  examining  some  books.  "Young  gentlemen,"  he 
added,  turning  to  the  group  of  students,  "unless  you 
hope  some  day  to  control  a  trust  you'd  better  keep  out 
of  politics." 

A  laugh  went  up. 

"Who's  responsible  for  this  announcement?"  Chal- 
fonte  asked. 

"It  sounds  like  our  young  friend  Waring,"  Sor- 
dello answered. 

' '  He  could  conduct  such  a  piece  of  tomfoolery  wisely 
if  any  one  could,"  Leonard  said. 

"Well,  they'd  better  be  scribbling  callow  political 
articles  than  breaking  their  bones  on  Washington 
Field,"  said  Chalfonte. 

The  President  of  Hallworth  strode  in  at  that  mo- 
ment with  a  huge  hound  at  his  heels.  He  responded  to 
the  greetings  of  the  professors,  then,  seeing  where  their 
attention  had  been  directed,  he  stopped  and  read  the 
poster.  His  look  of  amusement  was  his  only  com- 
ment. 

The  trolley-car  coming  along  at  that  crisis,  the  men 
121 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

took  their  departure,  with  the  exception  of  Professor 
Sordello. 

"I  think  I'll  slip  around  to  the  opera-house  and  see 
if  I'm  not  right,  if  it  is  not  our  young  friend  Waring,' ' 
he  said  blandly. 

It  was  close  on  to  four  o'clock,  the  hour  set  for  the 
meeting,  when  Sordello  reached  the  opera-house,  and 
saw  with  some  amusement  a  number  of  women  among 
the  stream  of  students  entering. 

"The  ladies  confirm  my  suspicions.  It  is  undoubt- 
edly our  good-looking  young  friend  Waring,"  he  said, 
in  his  soft,  rolling  voice.  "Ah,  Allaire,  are  you  inter- 
ested in  politics,  my  child?" 

His  daughter  gave  him  a  cool  little  look. 

"I  am  interested  in  anything  Richard  Waring  un- 
dertakes," she  said  lightly,  with  a  shrug  of  her  shoul- 
ders. Then  she  preceded  her  father  up  the  steps.  In 
the  lobby  Dutton  joined  her. 

"I'm  so  glad  you've  come,  Allaire." 

"Don't  be  too  sure  of  me.  I've  no  bouquets  for 
your  hero." 

"If  we  escape  eggs  we're  lucky.  The  freshmen  are 
here  in  full  force.    Do  you  hear  them  ? ' ' 

"I  have  ears." 

"Waring  will  manage  'em.  He  has  a  way  with 
him." 

Allaire  nodded. 

"You  needn't  worry  about  eggs.  But  what's  his 
object?    Is  he  in  earnest?" 

"Never  more  so.  The  magazine's  already  an  estab- 
lished fact,  whether  the  League  goes  or  not.  The  first 
number  comes  out  next  week." 

122 


A    FOUNDATION-STONE 

"What's  the  name?" 

"College  and  State.  Waring 's  editor-in-chief,  with 
a  staff  made  up  of  men  from  the  four  classes  and  one 
or  two  post-graduates. ' ' 

"Is  Waring  aspiring  to  the  Presidency  of  Hallworth 
or  to  the  Presidency  of  the  United  States  ? ' ' 

Dutton  laughed. 

"He  is  going  ahead  pretty  fast,  isn 't  he !  An  assist- 
ant professorship  at  the  first  stroke.  Shall  I  find  you  a 
seat?" 

"Thanks,  no;  for  I  shall  want  to  run  away  if  it's 
dull.    What  are  you— usher-in-chief  ? " 

"No;  useful  man  and  ejector  of  turbulent  youth." 

The  house  was  already  two-thirds  full.  The  girl- 
students  had  massed  themselves  in  the  front  of  the  or- 
chestra. Back  of  them  were  some  members  of  War- 
ing's  fraternity,  the  most  exclusive  in  the  University. 
The  gallery  was  occupied  chiefly  by  freshmen,  who  made 
known  their  presence  in  songs,  catcalls  and  exhortations 
to  Waring  to  appear  at  once,  on  pain  of  their  sore  dis- 
pleasure. 

Among  the  girls  the  Emperor  and  Elizabeth  King 
were  prominent.  With  the  latter  was  a  slender,  blond 
youth  with  remarkable  blue  eyes,  keen  enough  until  they 
turned  upon  Elizabeth.  Then  their  expression  soft- 
ened and  deepened. 

At  the  stroke  of  four  Waring  stepped  upon  the 
stage.  Allaire,  who  had  not  seen  him  since  the  Univer- 
sity opened,  thought  he  looked  rather  thin  and  worn, 
as  if  he  had  been  working  too  hard. 

"Richard  Waring 's  been  overdoing.  Where  did  he 
spend  the  summer?" 

123 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE  * 

"In  New  York,  substituting  for  his  former  editor- 
in-chief.  ' ' 

"One  would  think  he'd  been  fasting  in  a  monastery. 
He  looks  positively  Gothic." 

"You'll  lose  that  impression  in  a  minute  if  those 
freshmen  keep  on." 

The  gallery  had  saluted  Waring  as  William  J. 
Bryan.  They  were  now  making  too  much  noise  for  him 
to  speak.  He  looked  at  them  a  moment  in  a  detached 
kind  of  way,  as  if  puzzling  over  what  to  do  with  them; 
then  in  a  clear  voice,  which  he  managed  to  throw  just 
above  the  uproar,  he  said: 

"Any  freshman  whose  nurse  is  waiting  outside  may 
go." 

A  burst  of  laughter  restored  the  equilibrium  of  the 
audience.  The  freshmen  subsided,  influenced  partly  by 
Waring 's  voice  and  partly  by  his  manner.  They  had  ex- 
pected enthusiasm,  which  they  could  guy  with  great 
propriety,  and  they  found  instead  nonchalance. 

"I  will  not  keep  you  long,"  he  said.  "A  number 
of  us  have  decided  to  bring  out  a  magazine  which  will 
be  devoted  exclusively  to  contemporary  political  topics 
in  this  our  country,  which  will  emphasize  the  significance 
of  such  topics  to  university  men.  I'll  not  say  much 
about  the  magazine.  We  expect  the  first  number  to  set 
forth  our  aims  pretty  clearly.  What  I  want  to  talk 
about  this  afternoon  is  the  organization  of  a  kind  of 
League  to  discuss  political  questions  at  a  meeting  once 
a  month,  say,  and  incidentally  to  back  up  the  maga- 
zine and  contribute  to  it.  The  League  will  stand  for 
no  party,  but  it  hopes  to  follow  the  movements  of  the 
two  great  parties  and  the  developments  of  the  present 

124 


A   FOUNDATION-STONE 

administration.  Its  object  is  to  promote  a  more  intelli- 
gent understanding  of  the  political  issues  of  the  hour, 
and  to  deepen  the  sense  of  responsibility  which  educated 
men  especially  should  feel  in  their  capacity  as  voting 
citizens. ' ' 

He  went  on  to  speak  of  the  lack  of  organic  rela- 
tionship between  the  university  and  the  State  in  this 
country.  He  said  nothing  very  memorable  or  original, 
but  the  indefinable  influence  of  personality  gave  weight 
to  his  words.  The  enthusiasm  of  the  audience  rose  little 
wave  by  little  wave,  until  its  full  force  gathered  in  a 
sudden  cheering  and  clapping.  During  the  pause  which 
followed  Waring  invited  criticism. 

"Are  the  ladies  eligible  for  membership V '  said  a 
sarcastic  voice  in  the  gallery. 

"Certainly.  One  young  lady  from  the  senior  class 
is  on  our  editorial  staff. ' ' 

"Name!    Name!" 

Waring  looked  at  the  Emperor  and  she  nodded  as- 
sent. 

"Miss  Helena  Dare." 

A  round  of  applause  followed. 

"Business  details,"  demanded  another  voice. 

"These  Mr.  Frederick  Clyde  will  explain  to  you." 

The  young  man  who  sat  by  Elizabeth  now  took  the 
floor. 

"Don't  be  deceived  into  thinking  it's  a  sophomoric 
scheme  because  that  youngster  is  on  the  stage,"  Dutton 
whispered  to  Allaire.  "  Waring 's  giving  them  rope  to 
get  the  thing  started,  make  it  popular,  you  know;  but 
the  real  leaders  are  to  be  some  of  the  best  men  in  the 
University,   and  several   Senators  who  knew  Waring 's 

125 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

father  have  promised  to  contribute  articles.  He  has  a 
splendid  one  already  on  the  Filipinos. ' ' 

"It  doesn't  seem  like  Richard  to  organize,"  Allaire 
said.  "I  always  thought  he  was  a  solitary  soul  at  the 
core  of  him. ' ' 

1 '  I  think  he  is  down  deep. ' ' 

"It's  just  as  well  not  to  have  the  'a-lonely'  feeling," 
Allaire  said,  with  a  wistful  intonation.  "This  is  bet- 
ter." 

She  nodded  toward  the  audience,  the  majority  of 
whom  had  reached  that  pitch  of  enthusiasm  when  they 
really  believed  the  future  of  the  nation  was  in  their 
hands. 

"It  has  been  a  great  success,"  Waring  said  to  Dut- 
ton  half  an  hour  later,  as  they  went  down  the  steps  of 
the  opera-house.  "Over  two  hundred  were  enrolled  this 
afternoon.  Now  I'm  going  to  Perceval  to  see  if  he'll  be 
chaplain. ' ' 

"Chaplain!" 

"You  don't  remember  our  pleasantry  at  Mrs.  Mat- 
uring—that  Perceval  should  be  chaplain  to  the  Univer- 
sity? That  isn't  possible,  but  we'll  have  him  chaplain 
to  our  League.' ' 

Dutton  looked  curiously  at  Waring.  He  was  never 
quite  sure  his  friend  was  speaking  in  earnest. 

"You'll  come  with  me,  Dutton?" 

"Gladly.    I  haven't  seen  Perceval  since  last  June." 

The  Rectory  of  St.  Jude's  was  built  against  the 
church.  Virginia  creeper,  now  in  brilliant  autumn 
coloring,  overran  both  buildings  and  smothered  the  nar- 
row Gothic  windows. 

126 


A    FOUNDATION-STONE 

"We'll  have  him  father  confessor  to  the  League," 
Waring  said  with  boyish  gaiety  as  he  rang  the 
bell. 

"I  believe  he's  that  now  to  half  the  students." 

The  housekeeper  ushered  them  into  the  shadowy 
drawing-room.  Its  bare  walls  were  unadorned  save  by 
one  large  painting,  a  splendid  copy  of  the  St.  Justina 
of  Moretto  da  Brescia.    Waring  paused  before  it. 

"If  one  could  know  a  woman  like  that  one  would 
kneel  as  the  Duke  does. ' ' 

"One  couldn't  waltz  with  a  saint,"  said  Dutton. 

* '  There  'd  be  a  few  people  left  to  waltz  with. ' ' 

Perceval  entered  at  that  moment. 

"You  like  the  St.  Justina?  Maturin  brought  it  to 
me  from  abroad.    How  are  you,  Waring?" 

"Tired.  I  wrote  you  of  my  League.  Well,  the 
thing 's  hatched,  and  I  want  you  to  be  chaplain. ' ' 

"Chaplain?" 

"My  private  name  for  your  services.  We  want  you 
to  address  a  meeting  occasionally,  and  write  something 
for  the  magazine— show  you're  with  us,  in  short." 

' '  Come  into  the  library. ' ' 

He  led  the  way  into  a  large  room  well-furnished  with 
books.  Theological  works  were  conspicuous  by  their  ab- 
sence. Historical  and  scientific  works,  many  of  them  in 
German,  lined  the  walls,  with  a  sprinkling  of  biography 
and  modern  fiction.  A  copy  of  Leonardo's  drawing  of 
the  Head  of  Christ  hung  over  the  fireplace,  but  the  other 
pictures  were  photographs  of  the  Roman  ruins  and  of 
ancient  Greek  statuary. 

Perceval  drew  up  chairs  before  the  wood  fire  and 
opened  a  box  of  cigars. 

9  127 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

"Tell  me  in  detail  about  it.  You  didn't  explain  in 
the  letter." 

Waring  launched  into  his  subject  with  an  enthusiasm 
which  he  had  not  thought  wise  to  show  at  the  meeting. 
Perceval  listened  with  close  attention,  now  and  then  nod- 
ding approval. 

"And  we  want  you  to  help  us  a  little,"  Waring  said 
in  conclusion.  "The  students  have  great  respect  for 
your  authority,  and  your  having  been  a  lawyer  will  give 
what  you  say  more  weight." 

Perceval  smiled. 

"The  greatest  weight  in  such  an  organization  is  per- 
sonality, and  I  think  you  have  quite  enough  of  that, 
Waring,  to  carry  it  along  alone. "  \ 

"But  you'll  help  us?"  Dutton  said. 

Waring  looked  curiously  at  the  priest,  and  wondered 
if  at  last  he  were  to  run  across  a  limitation  in  Perceval's 
nature.  He  had  always  expected  the  virus  of  ecclesiasti- 
cism  to  manifest  itself  sooner  or  later  in  his  friend 's  char- 
acter, and  he  had  always  been  disappointed  agreeably. 
Perceval  was  the  man  before  he  was  the  priest.  What 
cataclysm  of  the  spirit— or  the  flesh— had  driven  him 
into  the  cassock  Waring  could  not  imagine;  but  he 
placed  him  in  the  St.  Augustine  category  of  saints- 
made,  not  born. 

"But  you'll  help  us?" 

Perceval  flicked  the  ashes  from  his  cigar. 

"Dear  boy,  they  don't  need  me  in  that  way— if  they 
need  me  in  any. ' ' 

"  'Render  under  Caesar'?— you  don't  believe  in  the 
Church  meddling  in  politics?"  Waring  said,  with  an  ef- 
fort to  keep  the  disappointment  out  of  his  voice. 

128 


A   FOUNDATION-STONE 

"Not  in  the  least." 

"But  you're  so  modern,  Perceval,  and  isn't  that  a 
medieval  idea?" 

Perceval  smiled. 

"The  pontificates  of  some  of  the  medieval  popes 
would  scarcely  bear  you  out. ' ' 

He  leaned  over,  and  laid  his  hand  for  a  moment 
lightly  on  the  younger  man's  shoulder. 

' '  I  think  it 's  a  splendid  scheme.  I  '11  give  you  all  the 
help  I  can  privately;  but  don't  you  see  I  can't  take  an 
active  part  in  it?" 

"Because "    Waring  paused  and  looked  the  rest 

of  the  question. 

"Because  they  might  want  to  come  to  me  for  other 
things— and  one  must  have  the  way  clear." 

"I  see— I  see,"  Waring  said.  "It's  all  right,"  but 
his  voice  was  disturbed.  Above  all  men  he  hated  to 
make  a  blunder. 

They  talked  on  indifferent  subjects  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, then  the  two  men  rose  to  go.  As  Waring  said 
good-by  Perceval  gave  him  a  frank  look. 

"You  understand,  dear  fellow?" 

Waring  smiled. 

"Maybe  I  will  understand  some  day  when— when  I 
wish  to  come  to  you  myself. ' ' 

When  the  door  had  closed  upon  them  Perceval  went 
into  the  drawing-room  and  seated  himself  where  he  could 
see  the  last  pale  light  upon  the  St.  Justina. 

"So  she  would  look  at  one,"  he  thought,  "should  one 
in  love  approach  her— from  an  immeasurable  distance." 

A  look  of  suffering  dimmed  the  clearness  of  his  face. 
129 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

His  mind  went  back  over  his  life,  step  by  step,  until  the 
tragedy— there  he  hesitated  and  drew  back. 

"It  is  judgment,"  he  said  wearily.  "The  man  who 
kills  the  thing  he  loves  will  himself  be  slain.  It  is  judg- 
ment that  now  I  shall  love  without  hope. ' ' 

He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  as  if  to  shut  out  two 
visions.  When  he  looked  up  again  darkness  had  hidden 
the  picture. 


130 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

THE  BRIDE. 

Waring,  when  Dutton  left  him,  turned  his  steps 
toward  Dr.  Penf old's  house.  Although  a  fortnight  had 
passed  since  his  return  to  Hallworth  he  had  not  yet 
called  upon  Barbara,  whom,  by  the  utmost  stretch  of  the 
imagination,  he  could  not  conceive  of  in  the  bridal  char- 
acter. Her  act  had  made  her  a  stranger  to  him,  and 
his  lingering  resentment  of  what  he  deemed  an  unnat- 
ural marriage  dulled  his  desire  to  begin  the  acquaintance 
with  this  new  person.  Only  if  he  found  her  unhappy, 
dazed  or  regretful— as  in  all  decency  she  ought  to  be— 
could  he  forgive  her. 

Mehitabel  opened  the  door.  Her  grim  face  relaxed 
at  the  sight  of  him,  and  exercising  her  privilege  of  long 
service,  she  greeted  him  warmly. 

"Mrs.  Penfold  will  be  real  glad  to  see  you,  such  a 
stranger  as  you  are!  She's  entertaining  callers  in  the 
parlor. ' ' 

The  announcement  that  there  were  other  guests  was 
welcome.  Three  women  were  with  Barbara— Mrs.  Mat- 
urin,  Mrs.  Joyce  and  Helena  Dare,  who  evidently  had 
been  telling  them  of  the  League. 

"Here's  Mr.  Waring  to  speak  for  himself,"  the  host- 
ess said,  rising  and  coming  forward  with  her  hand  out- 
stretched. She  looked  into  his  face  with  a  frank,  direct 
gaze.  Her  smile  of  welcome  showed  genuine  pleasure 
that  he  had  come. 

Waring,  somewhat  taken  back  by  her  self-possession, 
131 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

murmured  a  few  words  of  congratulation;  then,  after 
greeting  the  others,  seated  himself  by  Mrs.  Maturin, 
hoping  to  escape  the  mischievous  onslaught  which  he  saw 
stealing  toward  him  from  the  depths  of  Mrs.  Joyce's 
brown  eyes. 

"Mr.  Waring,  I  have  a  bone  to  pick  with  you!"  she 
said.  "While  you  were  forming  a  League,  why  didn't 
you  form  one  for  the  benefit  of  unhappy  wives  of  men 
of  genius,  open  to  all  women  of  the  Faculty  circle,  and 
inaugurate  it  with  a  cotillon— object,  the  extinction  of 
boredom  j  dues,  two  dinners  a  season  from  each  member, 
and  only  bachelors  invited?" 

Waring  laughed. 

"A  league  for  the  promulgation  of  romance?  No.  I 
wouldn't  stop  at  a  league,  if  I  were  undertaking  such  an 
enterprise;  I'd  found  a  whole  university  for  emotional 
education. ' ' 

"And  give  degrees  to  the  most  charming?"  said  the 
Emperor.  "There  is  room  for  such  a  propaganda  in 
Stafford  Hall." 

"But  who  could  judge  of  the  most  charming?"  Mrs. 
Maturin  said.  "One  of  the  most  fascinating  women  I 
ever  knew  did  not  appeal  in  the  least  to  a  third  friend, 
upon  whose  response  to  charm  I  had  always  counted." 

"What  is  charm,  Mrs.  Penfold?"  Mrs.  Joyce  said, 
turning  with  airy  challenge  to  Barbara,  who  had  been 
listening  in  silent  sympathy. 

"Yes,  give  us  a  definition,"  said  Waring,  "of  this 
elusive  quality." 

Barbara  flushed. 

"I  don't  know— I  should  call  it— happy  mystery." 

Mrs.  Joyce  clapped  her  hands. 
132 


THE    BRIDE 

1 *■ Bravo!  Mrs.  Penf old— something  which  gives  us 
joy,  yet  conceals  the  method. v 

''Your  nesselrode  puddings,  for  instance,"  said 
Waring. 

Mrs.  Joyce  rose. 

"lam  going.  I  never  did  attempt  a  flight  but  some 
one  clipped  my  wings,  and  down  I  came  with  a  thud. 

The  others  rose  also.  In  the  moment  to  himself  which 
their  good-bys  to  Barbara  gave  him  he  had  an  opportu- 
nity to  study  her  face.  It  was  his  theory  that  the  change 
of  marriage  must  work  some  kind  of  a  transforma- 
tion in  the  personality  of  a  woman.  The  maid  and  ma- 
tron were  sundered  by  the  bottomless  gulf  of  the  prime- 
val instinct.  The  Barbara  of  the  year  before  was  an 
obliterated  entity;  this  Barbara  must  know  the  ugliest 
or  the  divinest  fact  of  the  universe,  and  knowing  it  must 
be  spiritually  a  changeling.  Gazing  at  her  he  was  con- 
scious of  a  certain  atmosphere  about  her,  which  failing 
to  solve,  he  returned  to  her  physical  characteristics.  Her 
face  was  clear  and  pale,  her  eyes  darker  and  larger  than 
his  memory  of  them,  her  lips  full  and  red.  Her  ex- 
pression was  calm  and  sweet,  but  distinctly  passive.  Her 
very  self-possession  was  to  Waring  a  sign  of  her  perfect 
submission  to  the  experience  of  wifehood,  and  he  could 
not  reconcile  it  with  his  previous  knowledge  of  her  char- 
acter. That  she  should  become  engaged  to  Penfold  had 
seemed  to  him  a  weak,  pointless  action  on  her  part;  but 
he  had  explained  it  by  her  ignorance  of  love  and  of  the 
significance  of  marriage.  That  she  should  now  appear 
so  complacent  aroused  his  harshest  judgment.  Was  she 
after  all  a  girl  of  shallow  soul,  glad  of  a  home  and  a  po- 
sition, and  not  the  frank,  strong  spirit  he  had  thought 

133 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

her?  Yet  something  cried  in  him  that  he  was  unfair, 
and  it  was  with  a  look  almost  of  remorse  that  he  turned 
to  her  when  they  were  alone. 

"We  had  expected  you  before  this,"  were  her  first 
words.  "Amos  was  wondering  yesterday  why  you  did 
not  call." 

She  spoke  her  husband's  name  easily  and  without 
self-consciousness. 

"I  have  had  so  many  things  to  attend  to,"  Waring 
stammered;  "or  I  should  have  given  myself— the — the — 
pleasure  several  days  ago." 

"Is  it  too  late  to  congratulate  you  on  your  assistant 
professorship?"  she  said,  smiling.  "Dr.  Penfold  says 
he  is  the  most  to  be  congratulated. ' ' 

1  ■  That  is  too  good  of  him.  He  always  sees  his  friends 
magnified  through  his  own  merits." 

1 '  You  will  stay  to  dinner,  of  course. ' ' 

1 '  I  should  be  most  happy. ' ' 

He  was  beginning  to  realize  that  her  self-possession 
was  that  of  the  old  child-like  Barbara,  quite  at  home  in 
a  house  she  knew  well,  and  barely  conscious  as  yet  of  her 
own  changed  position  there.     But  Waring  was  puzzled. 

She  left  him  a  moment  to  give  orders.  He  looked 
about  the  room  for  bridal  touches.  The  furniture  was 
unchanged,  but  vases  and  bowls  of  flowers  were  every- 
where. Some  books  lay  on  the  center-table.  He  opened 
one  at  random,  which  proved  to  be  a  Milton,  bearing  her 
uncle's  book-plate.  Evidently  she  had  brought  some 
things  from  her  old  home. 

When  she  returned  Waring  was  deep  in  White's  Sel- 
borne.  "What  a  beautiful  edition!"  he  said.  "Is  this 
from  your  uncle 's  library  ? ' ' 

134 


THE    BRIDE 

"Yes;  but  the  majority  are  up-stairs  in  my  room. 
His  historical  library  was  left  to  Harvard,  but  the  other 
books  to  me.  We— were  at  Kingsbrook— after— after 
the  wedding.  I  shall  keep  the  house  for  a  summer  place, 
but  I  wanted  my  own  things  here. ' ' 

"You  were— you  were  married  the  seventh  of  Sep- 
tember, were  you  not  ? ' ' 

"Yes;  very  quietly  at  Kingsbrook.  I  spent  the  sum- 
mer  there  with  my  old  nurse.  You  were  in  New  York, 
were  you  not  ? ' ' 

"Yes;  substituting  on  a  paper/ ' 

"But  you  shouldn't  have  worked  all  summer,"  she 
said,  with  sweet  solicitude. 

"It  was  necessary.  Lady  Poverty  and  I  have  long 
been  wedded." 

His  resentment  against  her  had  faded.  Something 
gentle,  virginal  and  pure  surrounded  her,  as  in  the  old 
days,  combined  with  a  new  element  of  responsibility, 
which  seemed  to  give  her  the  poise  she  had  lacked  during 
her  year  at  Hallworth.  Yet  was  this  a  new  element? 
Was  it  not  regained,  an  assumption  of  what  her  girlhood 
had  stood  for,  the  care  of  an  old  scholar,  of  a  quiet 
house?  Waring  seemed  to  himself  to  be  making  the  ac- 
quaintance less  of  a  new  Barbara  than  of  the  child  of 
Kingsbrook. 

Dr.  Penfold  came  in  soon  after  and  greeted  him 
warmly. 

"We  thought  you  had  quite  forgotten  us,  Richard. 
You  came  just  in  time  to  be  forgiven.  Barbara,  my 
dear,  you  have  asked  Mr.  Waring  to  stay  to  dinner  ?  • ' 

"Mrs.  Penfold 's  hospitality  has  already  made  me 
sure  of  pardon." 

135 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

''Then  you  are  staying.  That  is  good.  I  have  a 
hundred  questions  to  ask  you.  We  shall  have  a  most 
interesting  Faculty  meeting  to-morrow,  and  you  must  be 
sure  to  come  to  give  your  vote  against  the  diversion  of 
the  library  fund." 

1 '  I  want  to  know  more  about  that, ' '  Waring  said. 

He  watched  his  host  as  he  talked,  and  thought  that  he 
looked  more  youthful  than  he  had  ever  seen  him.  His 
eyes  were  bright  and  there  was  a  faint  color  in  his 
cheeks.  He  seemed  boyishly  happy  and  animated,  and 
when  he  looked  at  Barbara  this  expression  of  happiness 
deepened. 

Once  when  she  left  the  room  for  a  moment  he  broke 
off  suddenly  to  say : 

"You  have  not  congratulated  me,  and  I  am  the  most 
fortunate  man  in  the  whole  Faculty.  She  is  like  a  spirit 
of  peace  in  this  house.  I  understand  now  what  loneli- 
ness is.  It  is  what  I  had  for  twenty  years  in  Hall- 
worth." 

"I  do  congratulate  you.  Mrs.  Penfold  is  not— not 
like  other  women." 

"Heaven  be  praised,  no!"  Dr.  Penfold  said,  with 
the  narrowness  of  the  newly  married  man.  "She  seems 
made  to  fill  in  the  pauses  of  one's  work,  never  to  inter- 
rupt it.  It  is  what  I  should  call  a  genius  for  domestic- 
ity." 

Waring  said  nothing.  In  his  own  mind  he  could  not 
reconcile  this  enthusiasm  with  Barbara's  somewhat  neg- 
ative peace  and  poise.  Could  it  be  possible  that  the  re- 
lationship was  after  all  platonic,  conscious  on  his  side, 
unconscious  on  hers?  The  resentment  of  her  being 
happy,  again  rose  in  his  soul  and  teased  him.     She  had 

136 


THE    BRIDE 

made  an  unnatural  marriage;  founded  on  affection,  yes, 
but  certainly  not  on  love,  and  yet  everything  was  appar- 
ently beatific. 

Dinner  was  the  same  simple  function  it  had  been  in 
the  bachelor  days,  except  that  the  table  was  adorned 
with  flowers.  Barbara,  in  a  gray  gown,  looked  nun- 
like and  sweet.  She  did  not  talk  much,  but  gave  her  at- 
tention to  her  husband  and  Waring,  keeping  close  watch 
the  while  of  their  needs.  After  the  meal  the  two  men 
went  to  Dr.  Penf old's  study  to  smoke.  Waring  was  rest- 
less, however,  and  took  his  leave  early.  After  he  had 
gone  Barbara  came  to  the  study  door. 

"You  are  going  to  work?"  she  said. 

"For  a  while,  yes/'  he  answered.  "What  are  you 
going  to  do,  Barbara?" 

"Read  a  little  in  my  room— arrange  the  books,  per- 


"I  will  join  you  there  soon,"  he  said.  She  turned 
from  him. 

"Barbara " 

She  faced  him  again. 

' '  Are  you  happy,  dear  ? "     - 

"Very  happy,"  she  said  gravely.  "I  think— I  think 
God  has  given  me  my  childhood  back  again." 

Her  husband  turned  his  head  quickly  away. 

She  went  to  her  room.  It  had  been  her  happiness  to 
arrange  it  as  far  as  was  possible  like  her  old  bedroom  at 
Kingsbrook.  Low  shelves  of  books  lined  the  walls. 
Above  them  hung  her  favorite  pictures,  the  Dante  and 
Beatrice  of  Ary  Scheffer,  some  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's 
children,  and  one  or  two  drawings  of  Leonardo's.  A 
few  growing  plants  were  in  the  seats  of  the  white-cur- 

137 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

tained  windows,  and  about  the  narrow  iron  bed  was  the 
screen  which  had  been  the  delight  of  her  nursery  days. 
It  bore  a  solemn  procession  of  Mother  Goose's  children, 
and  in  the  panels  below  a  baby  Pierrot,  in  cap  and 
bells,  read  fairy-tales  to  an  attentive  black  cat,  a  dear 
and  wise  Grimalkin,  while  other  clownlings  played  with 
their  papered  hoops.  Her  desk  stood  in  one  corner,  with 
its  little  furnishings  of  russia  leather,  shabby  from  long 
use. 

Barbara  sat  down  contentedly  by  it  and  opened  the 
catalogue  she  was  making  of  her  small  collection.  Her 
happiness  was  very  real  these  days.  The  vague  dread 
which  had  filled  her  all  those  summer  months,  making 
her  seem  strange  to  herself,  had  vanished  after  the  wed- 
ding, under  the  influence  of  her  husband's  gentleness. 
The  solemn  promise  to  be  a  wife,  which  she  knew  she 
had  given  under  impulse,  was  after  all  not  such  a 
weighty  thing,  involving  responsibilities  she  was  unable 
to  perform.  Her  affection  for  her  husband  had  deep- 
ened and  widened  during  those  sunny  September  days 
in  her  old  home,  where  she  reviewed  with  him  every  asso- 
ciation of  her  childhood,  from  their  row  on  the  river 
to  their  attendance  at  the  old  Unitarian  church,  where 
the  Dale  family  had  had  a  pew  for  generations. 

Of  her  new  social  relations  she  had  thought  but 
little.  The  Faculty  women  had  called  on  her,  and  she 
looked  forward  to  taking  part  some  day  in  that  life  of 
Hallworth  of  which  she  had  had  a  glimpse  at  Mrs.  Mat- 
uring ;  but  as  yet  she  was  perfectly  content  within  the 
four  walls  of  her  husband's  quiet  house.  That  it  was 
also  her  house  she  scarcely  realized. 

She  tired  of  the  catalogue  at  last,  and  began  a  re- 
138 


THE    BRIDE 

arrangement  of  the  pictures.  She  decided  to  hang  the 
Dante  and  Beatrice  above  her  bed. 

She  was  seated  on  the  side  of  her  bed,  viewing  the 
effect,  when  her  husband  entered. 

"Well,  dear,  did  you  fix  the  books  to  your  satisfac- 
tion?" 

"I  found  they  were  terribly  in  need  of  dusting,  and 
I  was  afraid  of  ruining  my  new  gown.  I  shall  overhaul 
them  to-morrow. 

Dr.  Penfold  looked  along  the  shelves. 

"I  see  you  have  a  Swinburne." 

"Yes." 

"Do  you  care  for  him?" 

"No." 

1 !  Do  you  know  him  well ! ' ' 

"I  suppose  I  should  not  judge.  I  have  read  him 
but  little." 

Her  husband  seated  himself  in  a  low  chair. 

"Come  and  sit  by  me,  Barbara.  Would  you  like  me 
to  read  to  you?" 

' '  Indeed,  yes,  if  you  can  spare  the  time. ' ' 

"I  will  read  you  the  story  of  Yseulte— a^nd— and  of 
Yseulte  of  the  White  Hand." 

She  sat  for  a  long  time  hearing  the  music  of  the 
words  without  much  thought  of  their  meaning.  At  last 
it  took  hold  of  her,  and  she  realized  that  the  beauty  was 
sweeping  on  into  tragedy. 

Then  came  the  story  of  Yseulte  of  the  White  Hand, 
of  the  mock  marriage,  and  the  brothers'  anger.  Dr. 
Penfold 's  voice  quavered  a  little,  and  Barbara,  listening, 
was  vaguely  oppressed.  She  wished  that  her  husband 
would  put  away  the  book.    The  story  hurt  her,  aroused 

139 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

that  fear  which  had  shadowed  the  summer  days.  Un- 
happy mystery  had  no  charm,  but  its  influence  seemed 
to  quicken  her  brain.  What  dream  had  she  been  living 
in?  Had  she  wilfully  shut  her  eyes  to  everything  but 
the  friendly  companionship  ?  She  leaned  forward  under 
the  weight  of  her  perplexity,  her  elbows  on  her  knees, 
her  forehead  propped  in  her  hands. 

Her  husband  suddenly  closed  the  book,  and  putting 
his  arm  about  her  waist,  drew  her  to  him.  She  kept  her 
face  turned  away,  and  he  was  conscious  that  she  trem- 
bled. 

"Barbara." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"You  are  not  afraid  of  me,  dear?" 

"No." 

"I  am  going  to  say  something  which  you— may  not 
understand.  You  said  that  God  had  given  you  back 
your  childhood.  That  is  good,  but  it  cannot  be  all.  You 
must  go  forward  into  a  new  life,  new  experiences— I 
trust  new  joys." 

"Yes,"  she  said  piteously. 

"You  a^re  now,"  he  said  slowly  and  hesitatingly, 
"you  are  now  like  Yseulte  of  the  White  Hand.  Do  you 
see?" 

She  sat  motionless  as  an  image,  the  pallor  in  her  face 
deepening.  The  silence  closing  in  around  them  seemed 
pregnant  with  life  and  death.  At  last  she  rose  and 
faced  him. 

"I  am  your  wife,"  she  said  solemnly.  "I  must— 
I  will  go  forward  to  that  new  life  you  speak  of— what- 
ever it  is." 

She  looked  at  him  steadily,  but  her  gaze  was  strained. 
140 


THE    BRIDE 

He  hid  his  eyes  for  a  moment. 

"You  must  learn  to  love  me,  Barbara,"  he  said  in  a 
low  voice,  which  had  a  note  of  pathetic  appeal. 

His  head  was  bowed,  and  as  she  gazed  at  him  for  the 
last  time  from  the  immeasurable  distance  of  her  girl- 
hood, the  vision  of  his  lonely  life  and  early  struggle 
rose  before  her. 

"  I  do  love  you, ' '  she  cried.    ' '  Indeed  I  do. ' ' 

The  wave  of  tenderness  which  had  carried  her  to  his 
arms  on  that  June  day  bore  her  there  again.  He  opened 
them  wide  to  receive  her. 


141 


CHAPTER   XIV. 


Perceval  was  seated  in  Mrs.  Maturin's  drawing- 
room  awaiting  his  hostess.  In  his  hands  was  the  first 
number  of  Waring's  magazine,  ''College  and  State,  a 
monthly  review  of  American  politics,  published  in  the 
interest  of  the  higher  education. ' ' 

The  priest  smiled  as  he  glanced  at  the  ambitious 
cover,  which  bore  in  dull  blues  and  browns  an  allegorical 
figure  of  a  woman,  presumably  ' '  Truth, ' '  against  a  back- 
ground of  conventionalized  towers,  presumably  those  of 
Hallworth  University.  The  smile  deepened  as  he  turned 
over  the  pages  of  thick  white  paper,  with  absurdly  gen- 
erous margins,  noting  the  impression  of  seriousness  and 
weight  conveyed  by  the  very  make-up  of  the  magazine. 
All  the  lavishness  of  youthful  ambition  was  in  the  ven- 
ture. 

He  looked  at  the  list  of  contents.  It  began  bravely 
with  an  article  on  the  Filipinos  by  a  well-known  Senator. 
Waring's  own  name  was  next  in  line,  subjoined  to  "The 
Relation  of  the  Earliest  American  Colleges  to  the  Colo- 
nies."   An  article  on  Trusts  followed. 

"I  am  glad  you  have  brought  a  copy  of  Mr.  War- 
ing's magazine,"  Mrs.  Maturin  said,  as  she  held  out  her 
hand.  ' '  Come  into  the  library  and  let  me  give  you  a  cup 
of  tea,  while  you  tell  me  about  it." 

"It  is  audaciously  good, ' '  Perceval  said ;  " if  one  may 
judge  by  tne  general  make-up.     One  might  say  youth- 

142 


"ATHENA" 

fully  good,"  he  added,  smiling.  "There's  a  Quixotic 
flavor  about  it  which  spells  the  man  under  thirty.  It  will 
probably  go  the  way  of  all  such  ventures. ' ' 

"Let  us  enjoy  it  while  it  lasts,"  Mrs.  Maturin  said, 
handing  him  a  cup  of  tea,  then  leaning  back  in  her  low 
chair.  ' '  My  first  number  must  have  gone  astray,  but  my 
conscience  is  clear.    I  have  sent  in  my  three  dollars." 

' !  What  a  boy  it  is ! "  Perceval  said,  as  his  eye  lighted 
on  some  lines  on  the  editorial  page.  "If  he  carries  these 
principles  out  in  his  League  he'll  turn  the  student-body 
into  a  set  of  socialists. ' ! 

Mrs.  Maturin  leaned  over  and  drew  an  American 
Beauty  rose  from  the  jar  of  faience  ware  near  her. 

"It  is  probably  the  immediate  effect  of  his  newspaper 
work  in  New  York.  He  has  often  told  me  that,  as  a  re- 
porter in  the  slums,  he  saw  hell  without  Virgil  for  a 
guide. ' ' 

"It  is  neither  poverty  nor  riches  we  resent,  but  the 
contrast,"  Perceval  said.  "And  New  York  is  small 
enough  in  area  to  keep  the  contrast  always  before 
one." 

"I  frankly  confess  that  I  should  make  a  very  poor 
socialist,"  Mrs.  Maturin  said,  looking  about  the  great 
room,  with  its  subdued  twilight  of  luxury.  "I  am  too 
fond  of  rare  things,  of  beautiful  things,  of  exclusive 
things,  and  they  are  costly.  Even— even  love  cannot 
reach  its  perfect  expression— without  the  aid  of  wealth." 

A  delicate  flush  stole  over  Perceval's  face.  He  did 
not  look  at  his  hostess,  as  he  asked : 

"You  mean  between  the  betrothed?" 

'  ■  Oh,  no.  In  that  stage  they  live  in  the  imagination- 
imagination  supplies  everything — I  mean  married  love. 
10  143 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

Of  course,  wealth  cannot  preserve  romance  after  mar- 
riage, but  it  can  go  far  toward  it." 

"I  see  what  you  mean.  It  builds  up  beautiful  bar- 
riers, preserves  mystery,  dignity — all  those  things  that 
conceal  the  harsh  facts  of  life. ' ' 

* '  Yes ;  and  that  is  why  Mr.  Waring  will  have  trouble 
in  converting  me— if  indeed  he  believes  in  it  himself.  I 
don't  think  he  does.  He  has  the  beauty-loving  tempera- 
ment. ' ' 

"So  has  the  little  girl  who  married  Dr.  Penfold.  I 
could  see  it  by  her  delight  in  your  house  the  night  I 
met  her  here." 

"Yes;  but  sub-consciously  I  imagine;  it  would  be 
better  for  her  if  it  remained  sub-conscious. ! ' 

They  were  both  thinking  of  Dr.  Penfold 's  plain  little 
house,  where,  if  anywhere,  married  lovers  would  have  no 
assistance  from  luxury.  Perceval  was  surprised  at  Mrs. 
Maturing  attitude,  but  pleased  with  her  frankness.  The 
austerity  of  her  grief  had  aroused  in  him  the  impression 
that  the  evidences  of  wealth  with  which  she  was  sur- 
rounded meant  little  to  her.  Now  he  saw  his  mistake. 
Beneath  the  gravity  of  her  almost  ascetic  atmosphere 
was  a  passionate  clinging  to  that  beauty  which  had  been 
one  of  the  chief  symbols  of  a  well-nigh  perfect  union, 
and,  no  doubt,  had  aided  in  preserving  its  perfection. 
During  these  last  months  Perceval  had  often  found  him- 
self wishing  she  were  penniless;  that  one  less  barrier 
might  be  between  them.  This  barrier  now  seemed  the 
very  embodiment  of  the  complete  hopelessness  of  his  love. 
Here  was  a  woman  frankly  sensuous— but  who  made  of 
her  very  sensuousness  an  armor  by  its  complete  identi- 
fication with  one  supreme  love.     Perceval  knew  the  fu- 

144 


"ATHENA" 

tility  of  approach  against  the  strongest  of  all  leagues- 
perfect  agreement  between  flesh  and  spirit.  He  could 
not  even  pray  that  this  woman,  now  widowed  two  years, 
should  forget,  for  he  knew  that  part  of  her  charm  for 
him  was  her  preoccupation  with  the  dead. 

"Have  you  heard  that  another  Oxford  lion  is  to 
visit  the  President?" 

"No;  who  is  he?" 

1 '  Beauchamp. ' ' 

"Ah,  the  historian  of  the  Oxford  Movement." 

1  *  I  hope  he  will  not  treat  us  as  if  we  were  barbarians, 
as  Freehold  did." 

' '  I  remember  your  sufferings. ' ' 

Mrs.  Maturin  laughed. 

1 '  We  never  had  a  more  difficult  guest.  At  the  largest 
dinner  we  gave  for  him  he  appeared  in  a  gray  sack-coat. 
I  was  almost  in  tears,  but  Herbert  only  laughed,  and 
said  that  Freehold  had  probably  left  his  evening-coat  in 
England,  thinking  he  should  have  no  use  for  it  in  the 
States.  Freehold  took  Miss  Ravenel  in,  I  remember,  and 
said  abominable  things  to  her  about  this  country;  but 
after  dinner  he  told  me  she  was  the  most  charming 
woman  he  had  met  on  this  side." 

"Said  that— to  you!" 

"I  didn't  care.  I  was  glad  he  had  found  something 
to  like  here.  The  strangest  part  of  all  was  that  when 
Herbert  and  I  were  in  Oxford  the  following  summer  he 
entertained  us,  and  a  more  delightful  host  you  could  not 
imagine. ' ' 

"Beauchamp  will  be  a  different  guest,  I'm  thinking, 
if  one  can  judge  from  his  books." 

At  that  moment  the  Emperor  was  announced.  She 
145 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

entered  with  her  peculiar,  gliding  movement,  and  that 
air  of  perfect  unconcern  which  had  been  eminently  suc- 
cessful in  breaking  down  the  barriers  between  herself 
and  the  Faculty  Wife.  Her  own  sympathies  were,  in- 
deed, more  deeply  involved  with  the  maturer  society 
than  with  the  student-body.  The  girl's  peculiar  per- 
sonality had  interested  Mrs.  Maturin  from  her  freshman 
year,  and  a  comfortable  friendship  existed  between  them. 

1 '  I  am  glad  to  find  you  here, ' '  the  Emperor  said,  giv- 
ing her  hand  to  Perceval.  "I'm  in  difficulties— and  per- 
haps you  can  throw  light." 

Mrs.  Maturin  smiled. 

"Are  the  young  things " 

"The  young  things  are  giving  a  flagrant  exhibition 
of  their  youth.  I  resigned  from  my  fraternity  yester- 
day, because  it  voted  to  ostracize  Madge  Henry." 

"And  what  has  she  done?" 

"Nothing  except  exercise  the  right  of  every  free-born 
American  citizen.  You  see,"  said  the  Emperor,  knit- 
ting her  black  brows,  "she  likes  Hartley  McVeagh " 

"Post-graduate?"  Perceval  interrupted. 

' '  Yes ;  electrical  engineer.  Now,  I  don 't  defend  him. 
He 's  the  leader  of  a  wild  set.  Every  one  knows  that,  that 
knows  anything;  but  Madge  likes  him— if  he  is  a  vil- 
lain! You  know  those  things  don't  go  by  favor  of  the 
Ten  Commandments " 

Perceval  nodded. 

" and  he  likes  Madge.    And  if  she  wants  to  dance 


with  him  and  go  to  concerts  with  him  I  think  it's  her 

own  affair,  and  not  the  affair  of  her  fraternity " 

"And  they  have  made  it  their  affair?"  Mrs.  Maturin 
asked. 

146 


" ATHENA' ' 

"They  have,  indeed.  You  know  ten  of  the  girls  live 
in  the  fraternity  house.  Madge  is  one  of  them.  Last 
year  they  were  very  much  opposed  to  her  going  with 
McVeagh ;  but  I  always  succeeded  in  keeping  them  from 
showing  their  disapproval  officially.  This  year  they 
came  together,  and  agreed  to  give  Madge  three  days  in 
which  to  choose  between  her  fraternity  and  McVeagh. 
Any  one  who  knows  her  knows  the  result.  She  is  now 
without  a  roof.  We  have  been  hunting  a  place  the  en- 
tire afternoon. ' ' 

"Is  she  engaged  to  him?"  Perceval  said. 

"That  I  do  not  know.  But  Madge  is  impulsive — 
warm-hearted— of  course  wilful.  She  graduates  this 
year— and— and  I  want  her  to  get  through  all  right — 
and  that  is  why  I  am  worried  about  her.  She  might  be 
driven  to  recklessness  by  such  an  unwise  measure  as  this 
fraternity  ostracism.  It  wasn't  the  way  to  manage  her 
—but  they'll  never  learn." 

She  spoke  with  an  earnestness  of  manner  which  sur- 
prised one  of  her  hearers.  Perceval  had  always  thought 
her  rather  flippant.  His  deep-rooted  dislike  to  co-educa- 
tion seemed  to  him  to  find  its  reason  of  being  embodied 
in  this  girl. 

Mrs.  Maturin  remained  silent,  as  if  revolving  a 
question. 

"Is  there  no  room  in  Stafford  Hall?"  she  asked  at 
last. 

"It  is  full  to  the  roof.  Elizabeth  King  is  with  me 
this  year,  or  Madge  could  share  my  room." 

"And  the  Annex?" 

"Not  an  inch." 

"Bring  her  to  me  then,  if  she  will  consent  to  come." 
147 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

She  spoke  as  if  the  words  cost  her  an  effort.  The 
Emperor  turned  quickly  to  her. 

"Do  you  really  mean  it?" 

1 '  There  are  whole  suites  of  rooms  empty  upstairs. ' ' 

1 '  Oh,  that  is  good  of  you ! ' ' 

"If  it  will  steer  the  girl  away  from  possible  dangers, 
I  am  only  too  glad. ' ' 

A  shadow  crossed  the  Emperor's  face. 

"But  McVeagh?    He  may  want  to  come— here." 

"He  can  eome.,, 

"And- you?" 

'  *  I  will  take  all  the  responsibility.  It  will  be  well  for 
her  to  see  him  against  a  new  background." 

"Then  may  I 1" 

"She  can  send  her  things  at  once— to-night.  I  shall 
have  everything  ready  for  her. ' ' 

Perceval  rose  to  take  his  leave.  Outside  the  twilight, 
a  process  of  nature  which  he  peculiarly  loved,  was  soft- 
ening the  outlines  of  the  western  hills.  Above  the  deep 
red  glow  a  slender  moon  hung.  The  lake  was  glassy.  In 
the  darkness  of  the  valley  lights  twinkled. 

Back  of  the  library  a  stone  bench  had  been  erected. 
He  sat  there  for  a  few  moments,  thinking  of  the  young 
life  which  filled  the  broad  campus  with  strong,  palpitant 
forces— the  desire  to  love,  the  desire  to  know.  Since  the 
dim  beginnings  of  the  world  these  two  chief  factors  of 
civilization  had  been  at  work  transforming  society;  the 
old  Greek  love  between  man  and  man,  beautiful,  heroic, 
impossible ;  the  love  of  the  Middle  Ages,  chivalrous,  un- 
real, mystic,  at  once  spiritual  and  earthy,  like  the  dim 
Gothic  cathedrals;  modern  love,  intricate,  complex,  and 

148 


''ATHENA" 

rarely  heroic.  Perceval's  thoughts  becoming  suddenly 
personal,  he  turned  from  somber  memories  to  that  other 
procession,  not  the  lovers,  but  the  scholars  of  the 
world— the  patient  clerk  of  the  Middle  Age,  the  monk, 
scorched  by  the  fire  of  a  new  conception  of  the  universe, 
and  unbosoming  his  secret  only  to  be  burned  in  material 
fires  by  the  Church.  Now— these  children  putting  into  a 
careless  epigram,  or  reciting  glibly  in  the  class-room,  the 
truths  for  which  Bruno  had  died.  The  luxury  of  heresy 
had  become  no  longer  possible.  Heroic  love,  heroic 
knowledge,  even  heroic  goodness,  seemed  denied  to  mod- 
ern men  and  women! 

Perceval  sighed,  gazing  through  the  darkness  which 
had  crept  up  at  last  from  the  valley  and  enveloped  him. 
He  would  go  into  the  library,  he  thought,  and  see  the 
young  heads  bending  over  the  long  tables,  the  strain  of 
the  day  over ;  the  strain  of  another  day  not  yet  begun— 
and  a  certain  atmosphere  prevailing  of  light  and 
warmth,  and,  as  yet,  leisurely  work. 

He  walked  up  one  aisle  and  down  another,  pausing 
sometimes  in  response  to  a  smile  and  the  whispered 
sound  of  his  name.  A  boy  would  speak  to  him,  or  a 
girl  glad  to  be  found  deep  in  Greek.  He  remembered  a 
book  he  wanted  to  consult  in  the  German  seminary-room, 
and  he  made  his  way  there  through  the  winding  pas- 
sages of  a  lower  floor,  with  their  heavy  atmosphere  of 
bindings. 

Two  young  men  rose  as  he  slipped  his  key  in  the 
door  and  greeted  him  heartily.  They  were  both  post- 
graduates, and  belonged  to  a  class  of  students  not  of 
the  machine-made  order  of  the  public  schools. 

1 '  Don 't  let  me  interrupt  you. ' ' 
149 


THE    LAW   OF   LIFE 

'  'We  were  not  studying— only  wasting  our  time  in 
discussion. ' ' 

"And  may  I  ask  of  what?" 

"A  great  piece  of  foolishness.  Channing  contends— 
what  did  start  such  a  sophomoric  business,  Channing? 
Never  mind — he  contends  that  a  philosophy  of  life  is 
necessary  at  the  start.  I  contend  that  it  is  only  neces- 
sary to  have  one  at  the  end,  to  squeeze  wisdom  from 
one's  experiences;  instead  of  hampering  oneself  at  first 
with  a  pack  of  theories." 

"You  are  both  right!" 

"Ah,  that  is  equivalent  to  saying  we  are  both  wrong. 
Do  tell  us  what  you  think." 

Perceval  shook  his  head. 

"Don't  ask  me  now,"  he  said,  smiling.  "It  isn't 
safe.  I  have  the  black  mood  on  me,  as  the  Germans 
say,  and  might  give  you  reckless  advice. ' ' 

He  pulled  down  a  book  and  was  soon  deep  in  it. 
They  exchanged  amused  glances.  This  priest  concealed 
beneath  his  cassock  the  wounds  of  life.  Of  that  they 
were  sure.  They  had  once  or  twice  wrangled  over  his 
sermons,  and,  because  they  did  not  wholly  understand 
them,  they  went  again  to  hear  him  preach. 

The  Emperor,  hurrying  to  her  room,  wondered  in 
what  words  she  should  couch  Mrs.  Maturin's  invitation 
to  Madge  Henry.  She  found  the  girl  sitting  by  the  win- 
dow with  a  droop  of  her  shoulders  which  suggested  re- 
action from  her  bravado  of  the  morning.  As  the  Em- 
peror entered  she  looked  up  wearily. 

"I  have  good  news  for  you,"  and  then  she  told  her 
what  had  happened. 

150 


"ATHENA" 

"Of  course,  Mrs.  Maturin  doesn't  think  you  a  saint, 
Madge;  she  is  much  too  wise  for  that;  but  neither  does 
she  think  you  a  sinner.  You  are  to  go  to  her— and  no 
one  can  say  a  word  against  your  being  Hartley  Mc- 
Veagh  's  friend  if  she  is  back  of  you ;  of  course,  you  are 
the  best  judge  of  the  worth  of  his  friendship. ' ' 

She  spoke  coldly  at  the  last,  suddenly  tired  of  the 
whole  affair,  now  that  she  had  ended  it  to  her  satisfac- 
tion. 

Madge  hesitated  a  moment,  then  she  rose  and  came 
to  the  Emperor's  side  and  took  her  hands. 

"I  do  not  know  why  I  care,"  she  said,  piteously. 
"He  isn't  worth  it." 

"Of  course  he  isn't.  But  if  you  have  to  get  over  it 
in  the  light  of  that  valuable  discovery,  I  know  of  no 
more  soothing  environment  than  Mrs.  Maturin 's.  She'll 
see  you  through." 

Madge  kissed  the  Emperor,  but  she  turned  her  cheek 
sharply  away.  She  did  not  like  people  to  kiss  her  un- 
less she  loved  them  very  much,  and  she  only  cared 
enough  for  this  little  fluttering  blonde  to  want  to  keep 
her  out  of  trouble. 


151 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A  PROSPECTIVE  DINNER. 

Lions  from  the  effete  European  world  had  become 
such  frequent  visitors  at  Hallworth  that  the  University 
no  longer  assumed  toward  them  the  grateful  and  depre- 
cating spirit,  as  if  the  obligation  were  all  on  one  side; 
but  pushed  a  bottle  of  its  best  port  across  the  table,  as 
from  man  to  man,  and  gave  the  stranger  tempered  wel- 
come. It  had  even  arrived  at  the  stage  when  it  had  its 
preference  in  lions,  and  frankly  asked  for  those  of  Eng- 
lish origin,  because  they  were  so  amusing.  After  recov- 
ering from  the  shock  imparted  by  Freehold's  scorn  of 
everything  American,  Hallworth 's  sense  of  humor  came 
to  its  rescue.  The  British  lion  might  stalk  through  the 
campus  in  sullen  disapproval;  but  to  the  University  re- 
mained the  privilege  of  twisting  its  inviting  tail.  There 
was  a  general  sense  of  disappointment  in  the  Faculty 
circle,  therefore,  when  it  was  learned  that  Winthrop 
Beauchamp,  the  impartial  historian  of  the  Oxford 
Movement,  had  brought  his  manners  with  him;  was, 
moreover,  so  charming  that  from  his  beautiful  English 
accent  to  his  faultless  dress  he  was  beyond  even  cousinly 
criticism.  The  excitement  of  Anglican  rudeness,  and 
the  complacency  of  noble  self-restraint  in  the  face  of  it, 
were  thus  both  denied  Hallworth,  an  institution  not  ex- 
empt from  the  ennui  of  culture. 

Professor  Sordello,  who  had  been  at  Brasenose  with 
Beauchamp  in  the  days  of  their  youth,  commanded  his 
wife  to  give  a  large  dinner-party  for  the  distinguished 

152 


A    PROSPECTIVE    DINNER 

visitor.  Mrs.  Sordello  acquiesced  without  a  murmur. 
Her  dinner-parties  were  generally  successful,  because, 
being  perfectly  aware  of  the  limitations  of  a  scholar's 
salary,  she  did  the  best  she  could  up  to  the  last  moment, 
and  then  committed  herself  to  heaven,  in  entire  sweet- 
ness and  passivity  of  spirit,  which  acted  as  a  delicate 
leaven  to  the  courses.  Having  lived  in  London  for  a 
year  or  two,  and  forming  there  an  intimate  and  daily 
acquaintance  with  Brussels  sprouts,  marrow,  boiled  po- 
tatoes and  mutton,  she  had  less  fear  than  usual  that  her 
dinner  might  not  appeal  to  the  great  man's  taste.  The 
meats  should  be  perfectly  cooked,  the  wines  the  right 
temperature,  and  fruits  and  vegetables  peculiar  to  Amer- 
ica should  be  in  evidence.  Her  menu  arranged,  she  sat 
down  with  Allaire  to  draw  up  the  list  of  guests,  divid- 
ing it  into  those  who  must  be  invited,  those  who  ought 
to  be,  and  those  we'd  like  to  have.  Allaire,  who  had  a 
keen  sense  for  social  distinctions  even  in  democratic 
Hallworth,  was  rapidly  enumerating  the  ' '  must-bes, ' '  be- 
ginning with  the  President  and  a  trustee,  and  ending 
with  a  name  almost  new  to  her  mother. 

"But  why  Marston?" 

Allaire  turned  her  head  wearily  to  one  side. 

1 '  Don 't  you  know,  mother  dear,  that  he 's  just  written 
a  book  on  the  Homeric  Origins— and  Dutton  told  me  it 
was  terribly  clever?" 

"Well,  but  Hendricks  has  just  had  a  book  published, 
hasn't  he?  and  you  say  'No'  to  him." 

"Yes;  but  his  is  on  English  Church  History  in  the 
Nineteenth  Century." 

1 '  Well !    Isn  't  it  a  good  book ! ' ' 

"Quite  proper  for  you  to  read,  Mummie;  but  the 
153 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

point  is  that  Waring  told  me  Hendricks  takes  the  dia- 
metrically opposite  view  to  Beauchamp.  It's  a  question 
of  sources  or  letters  that  one  of  them— I  don't  know 
which — had  access  to,  and  the  other  hadn't — when  he 
was  writing  it,  you  know.  So,  you  see,  you  couldn  't  have 
them  together.  They  might  remember  that  they  were 
Englishmen  and  Americans  first,  and  guests  afterward, 
and  sadden  the  dinner." 

Mrs.  Sordello  laughed. 

1  'You 're  a  wise  baby.  Well,  who  else?  Let  me  see. 
Dare  we  risk  Dr.  Penfold?" 

"Oh,  yes,  risk  him.  If  he  did  anything  queer  Dr. 
Beauchamp  would  think  it  was  because  he  is  such  a 
famous  man— besides,  I  want  Barbara." 

"But  I  am  afraid  Mrs.  Penfold "  Mrs.  Sor- 
dello hesitated,  for  Allaire's  clear  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
her. 

"You  are  afraid  she  would  not  shine." 

"Well,  she  is  rather  quiet  and  shy,  my  dear— and 
doesn  't  talk  much. ' ' 

"There'll  be  women  to  take  her  share  of  the  talk- 
ing," Allaire  said.  "And  please,  little  mother,  don't 
forget  that  Barbara  is  very  young.  Wait  till  she  wakes 
up." 

1 '  Very  young !  She  is  only  a  year  younger  than  you, 
child." 

"Yes;  but  she  did  not  spend  her  life  in  Hallworth!" 

"Well,  let  us  have  them,  then.  You  mustn't  think 
that  I  do  not  like  Mrs.  Penfold,  dear.  Only  she  seems 
to  me  more  domestic  than  social." 

"1  know  her  better.    If  she  hadn't  made  this  absurd 

marriage " 

154 


A    PROSPECTIVE    DINNER 

1 '  Well,  as  long  as  she  has  made  it  she  'd  better  remain 
domestic. ' ' 

Allaire  shook  her  head. 

"But  whom  will  we  put  her  with?" 

"Dutton  on  one  side." 

"Allaire,"  her  mother  said,  a  note  of  vexation  in 
her  voice,  "I  can't  have  Dutton  every  time.  He  really 
doesn't  belong  at  this  dinner." 

"Why  not?"  Allaire  said,  a  light  coming  into  her 
eyes  that  her  mother  knew  was  a  signal  of  revolt. 

"He's  not  clever  enough." 

"You  mean  he  can't  talk  in  epigrams.  Well,  I'm 
glad  he  can't.    I'm  sick  of  them!" 

"But  why  should  he  be  asked  to  meet  Dr.  Beau- 
champ?    He  has  done  nothing." 

"Because  he's  an  honest  American  citizen  and  I  like 
him,"  Allaire  said  hotly.  "He  has  character  enough  to 
ballast  another  Oxford  Movement  should  one  come  up." 

"Don't  get  too  fond  of  him."  Her  mother  had 
visions  of  a  college  president  for  Allaire. 

"I'm  only  afraid  I  won't." 

Her  mother  sighed,  then  laughed. 

"Now,  dear,  see  if  this  arrangement  is  good." 

Allaire  looked  at  it  critically. 

"It's  all  right  except  that  Dr.  Melton  and  Professor 
Smith  will  be  directly  opposite  each  other,  and  they've 
scarcely  spoken  since  Prexy's  last  dinner— or  so  I  hear." 

"What  are  they  quarreling  about?" 

"Well,  you  know,"  Allaire  said  judiciously,  "they 
do  not  agree,  because  one's  an  Hegelian,  and  the  other 
— well,  the  other  is  too— and  each  thinks  he's  the  sole 
possessor  of  the  secret— whatever  it  is.     At  Dr.  Hunt's 

155 


THE    LAW   OF   LIFE 

dinner  Dr.  Melton  said  only  a  sophomore  would  inter- 
pret Hegel  in  a  certain  way ;  and  Professor  Smith  glared 
and  said  he'd  be  sixty-five  next  June " 

"Oh,  Allaire,  Allaire!"  her  mother  said,  laughing; 
' '  that  is  too  much. ' ' 

"I  assure  you  I  had  it  direct,"  she  said  solemnly; 
but  her  eyes  danced.  "Mrs.  Joyce  was  at  the  dinner, 
and  she  told  Mrs.  Cartwright,  and  Mrs.  Cartwright  told 
Dutton,  and  Dutton  told  Waring,  and  Waring  told  me. ' ' 

' '  Enough  of  your  nonsense !  Now  tell  me,  like  a  good 
child,  which  you'd  rather  have— a  new  silk  waist  or 
American  Beauty  roses  on  your  poor  mother's  dinner- 
table?" 

Barbara  received  her  invitation  one  morning  at 
breakfast.  She  was  waiting  for  her  husband  to  finish 
the  inspection  of  his  mail  that  she  might  ask  him 
whether  they  should  accept  or  not. 

Nothing  broke  the  silence  of  the  room  but  Dr.  Pen- 
fold's  loud  crunching  of  his  toast,  as  he  bent  his  spec- 
tacles over  a  paper.  Barbara  had  already  learned  not 
to  attempt  to  penetrate  this  absorption  which,  with  the 
setting  in,  in  earnest,  of  the  year's  work,  had  begun  to 
surround  her  husband  like  a  thick  aura.  The  emotions 
of  the  past  weeks  had  swept  over  him,  had  subsided 
under  the  pressure  of  outside  interests  and  demands, 
leaving  him  much  as  he  had  been  before,  gentle  and  af- 
fectionate indeed,  but  preoccupied,  and  accepting  the 
new  element  in  his  household  as  a  comfortable  matter  of 
course.  But  Barbara  was  still  vibrating  to  the  new  chord 
which  had  been  struck  in  her  life.  Bewilderment,  not 
without  its  admixture  of  pain,  was  in  full  possession  of 

156 


A   PROSPECTIVE    DINNER 

her,  and  there  were  hours  when  she  confused  her  nerves 
with  her  emotions.  Concerning  these  inner  cataclysms 
her  lips  were  sealed,  her  present  conception  of  a  hus- 
band being  a  person  whom  you  must  not  disturb  with 
your  questionings.  Moreover  it  seemed  that  there  were 
some  questions  which  you  could  only  ask  God! 

Dr.  Penfold  looked  up  at  last,  and  seeing  her  gaze 
fixed  upon  him,  said  kindly: 

"What  is  it,  dear?" 

"A  dinner  invitation  for  the  tenth  of  November — 
from  Professor  and  Mrs.  Sordello— to  meet  Dr.  Beau- 
champ,  it  says." 

*  \  Would  you  like  to  go,  my  dear  ? ' ' 

"Would  you?"  she  said,  knitting  her  straight  black 
brows. 

"They  give  me  indigestion  for  a  week,  those  long 
course  dinners;  but  Beauchamp  is  worth  it,  and  you 
should  find  it  entertaining.  Write  and  accept  for  us  if 
you  care  to  go." 

"I  have  never  been  to  a  large  dinner— and  I  want— 
I  want  you  to  enjoy  it." 

"Oh,  I'll  enjoy  it  when  the  time  comes;  but  you 
must  make  my  decisions  for  me,  little  girl.  Is  that  the 
half-past  eight  bell?  If  I'm  not  home  promptly  for 
lunch,  don 't  wait,  Barbara. ' ' 

He  went  into  the  hall  and  put  on  his  great-coat,  then 
came  back  to  where  she  stood  looking  out  on  the  cam- 
pus, and  kissed  her. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  to-day?" 

"Lots  of  things,"  Barbara  answered  brightly,  forc- 
ing herself  to  smile  up  in  his  face.  "Plan  you  a  beau- 
tiful dinner  for  one " 

157 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

"Don't  attempt  any  pastry— what-you-call- 'ems— 
I'm  so  easily  upset.  Better  leave  that  side  of  it  to 
Mehitabel,  dear.  She  knows  just  what  I  want.  She 
ought  to,  she's  been  with  me  long  enough.  But  order 
anything  you  like  for  yourself." 

"I  wasn't  thinking  of  myself.  I  want  to  please 
you." 

He  smiled. 

"You  do  please  me— always.  You  need  not  think 
of  dinners  to  do  that." 

Barbara  watched  him  from  the  window  as  he  went 
lightly  down,  the  garden-walk,  then  she  looked  at  the 
line  of  students  filing  up  the  avenue,  all  walking  as  if 
under  pressure  of  immediate  duties  and  engagements. 
She  turned  away  at  last,  feeling  a  vague  sense  of  lone- 
liness in  the  quiet  house.  She  wondered  what  she  should 
do  next.  During  the  first  month  of  bridehood  Mehita- 
bel, who  liked  Barbara,  though  she  joined  forces  with 
her  superiors  in  disapproving  of  the  marriage,  had  come 
to  her  for  orders;  but  finding  that  Mrs.  Penfold  was 
more  inclined  to  consult  than  command,  and  finding  also 
that  she  knew  very  little  of  Dr.  Penfold 's  tastes,  the 
old  servant  took  back  the  show  of  authority  which  she 
had  never  really  surrendered,  and  quietly  went  on  as 
before  with  the  full  care  of  the  house.  Barbara  did  not 
remonstrate.  She  had  as  yet  no  grasp  on  her  matronly 
privileges. 

Mehitabel  coming  in  to  clear  the  breakfast-table,  Bar- 
bara went  to  dust  the  little  drawing-room,  and  to  change 
the  water  in  the  vases  of  flowers.  Some  were  from  the 
garden,  some  purchased  at  the  greenhouse,  where  she 
had  the  traitorous  thought  one  day  of  being  glad  that 

158 


A   PROSPECTIVE    DINNER 

she  possessed  money  of  her  own.  She  had  put  it  out  of 
her  mind  immediately,  feeling  that  in  some  vague  way 
she  had  been  untrue  to  her  husband  in  thinking  it. 

When  she  had  finished  her  dusting  of  the  prim  little 
room,  and  changed  the  vases  about  with  that  anxiety  for 
trifles  which  is  born  of  too  much  leisure,  she  went  up- 
stairs. Her  husband's  study  door  stood  open,  but  she 
did  not  enter.  One  bleak  hour  was  still  vividly  in  her 
mind,  when  they  had  searched  together  for  a  missing 
paper,  presumably  displaced  by  the  zeal  of  her  morn- 
ing's dusting.  She  was  exonerated  afterward,  the  paper 
being  found  in  a  drawer  ■  but  the  tragic  look  on  her  hus- 
band's  face  was  an  appeal  for  future  self-restraint  in 
domestic  fervor.  She  determined  that  she  should  be 
always  ready  to  prove  an  alibi  in  the  matter  of  the  table 
with  its  confused  heaps  of  papers,  letters,  books,  manu- 
script. He  had  praised  her  order  before  their  mar- 
riage; but  she  had  to  learn  that  by  a  curious  spiritual 
chemistry  the  virtues  of  the  girl  may  become  the  faults 
of  the  wife. 

She  went  into  her  own  room,  flooded  with  morning 
sunlight,  and  her  spirits  rose.  She  sat  down  before  her 
books  and  read  the  titles  over,  as  if  saying  good-morning 
to  old  friends.  The  Swinburne  was  conspicuous  by  its 
absence.  Since  the  night  when  her  husband  had  read  her 
the  story  of  "Yseulte  of  the  White  Hand,"  she  had 
hated  the  book  and  wanted  it  out  of  her  sight.  She 
had  wrapped  it  up  at  last  and  mailed  it  to  her  old  nurse 
at  Kingsbrook,  asking  her  to  put  it  back  in  the  home- 
stead library. 

After  a  while  she  began  to  think  of  the  dinner  and  to 
wonder  what  she  should  wear.  The  education  of  that 
11  159 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

one  evening  at  Mrs.  Maturin's  was  still  operating  in  her, 
and  remembering  Mrs.  Joyce's  dress  of  scarlet  chiffon, 
she  reasoned  that  if  such  a  gown  were  worn  at  the  most 
informal  gathering,  a  dinner  called  for  something  much 
more  elaborate. 

"I  shall  ask  the  Emperor.  I  shall  go  to  the  Hall 
directly  after  lunch.  And  then  I'll  coax  Amos  for  a 
walk,"  she  thought,  glad  to  be  filling  up  a  day  which 
had  opened  with  a  prospect  of  dragging.  She  found  it 
difficult  since  the  term  opened  to  get  her  husband  out 
for  their  old  walks;  but  her  will  proved  stronger  than 
his  on  several  occasions,  and  he  was  pleased  at  the  last 
to  yield. 

She  sat  sewing  for  a  while,  but  finding  that  this  oc- 
cupation—never too  congenial-— allowed  her  thoughts  to 
wander  through  labyrinthine  ways,  she  turned  to  her 
books  instead.  At  the  end  of  a  long  morning  she  ate  her 
lunch  alone,  and  afterward  hastened  to  Stafford  Hall, 
glad  to  escape  from  the  quiet  house.  As  she  went 
through  the  corridors  to  the  Emperor's  room,  and  heard 
snatches  of  girlish  talk  and  saw  familiar  faces,  she  won- 
dered why  she  had  felt  so  out  of  place  among  them  last 
year;  and  deep  regret  stirred  within  her  for  an  experi- 
ence forever  withdrawn. 

She  hoped  that  she  would  find  the  Emperor  alone. 
In  some  moods  Elizabeth's  cheerfulness  hurt  one,  as  too 
sudden  light  the  eyes. 

The  Emperor  was  alone,  seated  in  her  low  arm- 
chair, with  a  book  on  her  knees.  Her  long-suffering 
"Come  in"  changed  to  a  cry  of  welcome  as  she  saw 
Barbara. 

"You  are  working.    I  will  not  keep  you  long." 
160 


A   PROSPECTIVE    DINNER 

"But  I  want  you.  I  have  been  missing  you  'way 
down  deep.  Sit  here;  no,  sit  there,  where  I  can  have 
a  good  look  at  Mrs.  Amos  Penfold." 

A  delicate  flush  overspread  Barbara's  face. 

"No;  'Barbara,'  please,  to-day.  Do  you  remember 
what  you  said  once  to  me?" 

"I  talked  much  nonsense  to  you  last  year  under  the 
impression  that  you  were  a  freshman." 

' '  You  said  it  was  imperative  I  should  like  you.  Now 
I  say  to  you  that  it  is  imperative  that  you  like  me. ' ' 

"I  was  afraid  you'd  find  out  last  year  how  much  I 
did  like  you.    It  kept  me  always  on  guard. ' ' 

"Don't  be  on  guard  now,"  Barbara  said.  There  was 
an  appealing  look  in  her  face,  which  made  the  Emperor 
want  to  rise  from  her  chair  and  go  to  her;  but  she  re- 
mained impersonal,  not  being  of  the  temperament  to 
forego  the  luxury  of  rejection. 

"I'm  not  on  guard  now,"  she  said  softly.  "I  am 
yours  to  command." 

Barbara  smiled. 

"You  have  always  been  good  to  me.  This  time  it  is 
a  dinner-gown.  Dr.  Penfold  and  I  are  invited  to  dine  at 
Professor  Sordello's  to  meet  Dr.  Beauchamp,  and  I'm 
perfectly  sure  that  I  have  nothing  in  my  wardrobe  to 
meet  the  occasion.  Somehow  last  summer  I  couldn't  get 
quite  the  things  I  wanted.  I  had  no  one  to  advise  with, 
and  I  was  afraid  to  venture." 

"Barbara,"  the  Emperor  said  slowly,  "the  hour  for 
which  I  have  long  prayed  has  arrived.  Will  you  let  me 
do  the  planning  of  that  dinner-dress,  and  help  you  get 
into  it  on  the  night  of  the  party?" 

"Will  I  let  you?    Indeed,  yes!    Only " 

161 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

"Only  what?" 

"It  will  be  suitable— for  me?" 

"Child,  when  you  get  into  that  dress  you'll  know 
what  you're  put  into  the  world  for.  There  are  gowns 
which  are  revealers  of  destiny.    This  will  be  one ! ' ' 

Barbara  laughed,  then  sighed. 

' '  I  should  be  glad  to  know  why  I  am  here. ' ' 

The  Emperor  heard  the  sigh  and  recorded  it,  but 
she  was  not  surprised.  Had  this  bride  of  seven  weeks 
been  found  happy  she  would  have  erased  her  tenets  of 
wisdom,  and  closed  her  book  of  experience  in  despair. 

The  planning  of  the  dress  occupied  an  hour  or  more, 
and  Barbara  hastened  home  afterward  with  the  sense 
of  having  neglected  some  duty.  She  found  her  husband 
at  work. 

"I  did  not  mean  to  be  out  when  you  came  back,"  she 
said  earnestly,  as  she  entered  the  study. 

He  looked  up  bewildered. 

"You  have  not  been  in  the  house,  dear?" 

"No;  I  left  a  little  note  for  you  with  Mehitabel. 
Didn't  she  give  it  to  you?" 

"She  did,  and  I  forgot  to  read  it.  I  am  more  than 
usually  rushed  to-day,  Barbara— and  Schelling  is  beg- 
ging for  another  work  to  supplement  that  of  last  year." 

*rWill  you  begin  another  book  so  soon?" 

"I  think  I  shall,  as  soon  as  my  classes  are  running 
smoothly. ' ' 

"I  have  been  to  see  Miss  Dare.  She  is  planning  me 
a  gown  for  the  Sordellos'  dinner." 

1  *  That  is  good.    Where  are  you  going  now  ? ' ' 

"You  couldn't  go  for  a  walk?" 
162 


A   PROSPECTIVE    DINNER 

"I'm  afraid  not." 
"I  think  I  shall,  then." 

"Very  well— I  shall  see  you  at  dinner,  and  will  you 
kindly  tell  Mehitabel  that  I  am  not  at  home  to  any  one  ? ' ' 

Barbara  chose  a  path  through  the  woods  which  she 
knew  would  be  unfrequented  at  that  hour.  Nature  was 
always  soothing  to  her,  and  on  this  still  eve  of  All  Saints 
the  very  rustle  of  the  dead  leaves  beneath  her  feet 
seemed  to  speak  of  peace  obtainable  only  under  the  wide 
and  open  sky.  Of  late  longing  for  human  comfort  and 
comprehension  had  alternated  in  her  with  desire  for  soli- 
tude. On  some  days  she  felt  that  she  was  not  fit  to  face 
the  pure  light  of  heaven,  on  others  that  only  heaven 
could  understand.  Realizations  lurked  like  wolves  in  the 
background  of  her  consciousness,  and  threatened  at  times 
to  destroy  her  very  identity.  Where  was  the  Barbara, 
the  child  who  read  her  Virgil  in  the  old  house  at  Kings- 
brook,  and  tended  her  roses  in  the  garden,  and  talked 
with  an  old  scholar  concerning  the  mysteries  of  the  uni- 
verse? The  greatest  mystery  of  all  had  never  been 
spoken  of.  Why  had  her  uncle  never  mentioned  mar- 
riage, or  love?  The  wound  of  his  life  was  hearsay  to 
her,  her  old  nurse  having  told  her  the  story  of  the 
woman  who  played  him  false.  A  certain  gentle  reproach 
filled  her  heart  now.  He  should  not  have  sent  her  into 
the  world  with  her  eyes  bandaged.  On  this  afternoon, 
walking  alone  through  the  autumn  woods,  she  felt  like 
one  who  treads  over  a  gulf.  If  she  opened  her  eyes  she 
would  fall.  Safety  consisted  in  deliberate  blindness  now. 
She  did  not  reason  this  out  plainly,  but  gropingly.  In- 
stinct had  been  strong  in  her  these  last  weeks,  and  it  was 

163 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

teaching  her  to  yield  to  the  current  of  events  on  which 
she  had  deliberately  embarked. 

She  tried  to  think  only  of  the  sweet,  silent  woods 
about  her,  and  the  delicious  glimpses  of  blue  between  the 
trees.  After  a  while  she  grew  tired  and  sat  down  to  rest 
at  the  foot  of  a  pine-tree.  Twilight  came  with  a  stride, 
and  found  her  there. 

Waring,  returning  from  a  walk,  recognized  her  in  the 
distance  by  the  attitude  in  which  he  had  first  seen  her, 
her  elbows  on  her  knees  and  her  chin  propped  on  the 
palms  of  her  hands.  As  he  drew  near  she  rose  nerv- 
ously, half-frightened;  then,  recognizing  him,  she  held 
out  both  her  hands  with  a  happy  cry. 

"I  am  glad  it  is  you!  I  had  stopped  too  long,  and 
when  I  heard  the  steps  I  was  afraid." 

"It's  an  eerie  time  to  be  in  the  woods,  but  it's  all 
right  now,  and  I  have  an  unexpected  pleasure. ' ' 

He  spoke  cheerily,  glad  to  see  the  color  come  back  to 
her  face ;  but  the  eyes,  turned  frankly  to  him  from  time 
to  time  on  their  homeward  walk,  seemed  large  and  sad. 
He  wondered  of  what  she  had  been  thinking  alone  there 
in  the  woods— and  why  she  was  alone. 


164 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

A  GLIMPSE  INTO  A  KINGDOM. 

Waring  and  Dr.  Penfold  were  seated  in  the  latter 's 
study  talking  earnestly  of  a  matter  concerning  the  mathe- 
matical classes.  Waring  had  dressed  early  for  the  Bor- 
dellos' dinner  that  he  might  have  time  to  dispose  of  this 
business  before  the  hour  for  pleasure.  As  he  talked  he 
was  conscious  of  a  girlish  voice  in  the  adjoining  room, 
symbolized  to  his  mind  by  the  faint  perfume  of  violets 
pervading  the  house. 

There  was  a  rustle  of  skirts  at  last,  and  Barbara  en- 
tered shyly,  followed  by  the  Emperor.  Waring  rose,  not 
trying  in  the  least  to  keep  his  surprise  and  delight  from 
his  face.  He  could  scarcely  believe  that  it  was  Bar- 
bara. 

The  dress,  planned  to  be  a  revealer  of  destiny,  was  of 
white  chiffon,  full  and  abundant,  covered  all  over  with 
shining  little  silver  sequins.  The  waist,  low-cut,  re- 
vealed Barbara's  white  arms  and  neck.  Her  hair, 
dressed  in  Madonna  fashion,  held  white  velvet  roses, 
upon  whose  petals  sequins  sparkled  like  dew.  Not  a 
touch  of  color  anywhere.  The  Emperor  looked  trium- 
phant. 

Barbara  was  blushing,  but  an  aura  of  self-possession 
surrounded  her,  glorified  her.  She  was  on  the  v,erge  of 
reigning,  of  understanding,  of  stepping  into  her  own— 
needed  now  but  the  response  to  her  overture  to  life. 

Compliments  came  running  to  Waring 's  lips,  and 
begged  to  be  let  out ;  but  he  held  them  in  check,  for  she 

165  * 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

was  not  looking  at  him,  but  at  her  husband,  her  eyes 
asking  as  plainly  as  if  she  spoke  for  admiration,  ap- 
proval. 

Dr.  Penfold  rose  and  gazed  at  his  wife  through  a 
mist  of  abstraction. 

"Ah,  my  dear,  you  are  ready!    Must  we  go?" 

He  looked  at  his  watch;  then  reached  for  his  great- 
coat, flung  over  a  near-by  chair.  The  light  went  out  of 
Barbara's  face.  She  turned  with  a  certain  embarrass- 
ment of  manner  to  the  Emperor,  who  had  been  watching 
the  scene  with  a  keenness  of  comprehension  not  visible 
in  the  pale  mask  of  her  features. 

"Do  you  remember,  dear;  what  I  did  with  my 
fan?" 

Something  rose  up  in  Waring  and  choked  him.  He 
would  give  a  kingdom  to  bring  that  look  back  to  Bar- 
bara's eyes!  As  he  helped  Dr.  Penfold  into  his  great- 
coat he  said  in  a  low  voice :  ' '  Mrs.  Penfold  looks  charm- 
ing.   Have  I  your  permission  to  tell  her  so?" 

Then  Dr.  Penfold  turned  to  Barbara.  Her  head  was 
bent  over  a  glove  she  was  buttoning.  When  she  looked 
up  again  Waring  saw  that  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

Barbara  found  herself  at  dinner  between  Dutton  and 
Waring.  Although  she  did  not  know  it  her  entrance 
into  the  drawing-room  had  created  a  sensation.  The 
Emperor  in  planning  her  effects  had  shown  a  subtle  un- 
derstanding of  personality.  The  white  gown,  with  its 
silver  sequins,  was  at  once  an  expression  of  its  wearer's 
actual  and  potential  character.  The  question  remained 
which  aspect  of  the  dress  would  Barbara  respond  to? 
In  Dr.  Penfold 's  study  it  seemed  for  an  instant  as  if 
•  166 


A    GLIMPSE    INTO    A    KINGDOM 

she  were  realizing  her  future  possibilities.  Then  the 
pink  rose  folded  in  its  petals  and  became  again  a  white 
bud. 

It  was  in  the  character  of  a  white  bud  that  she  sat 
through  the  dinner.  Allaire  had  not  shown  her  usual 
astuteness  in  placing  Barbara  between  the  two  men  she 
knew  well.  Neither  challenged  her  to  talk,  so  she  list- 
ened for  the  most  part  to  such  snatches  of  conversation 
as  reached  her.  Directly  opposite  to  her  Perdita  Rav- 
enel,  beautiful  in  a  gown  of  black  velvet,  was  holding 
the  attention  of  those  near  her  by  her  witty  yet  un- 
obtrusive talk.  Dr.  Beauchamp,  at  the  right  of  his  host- 
ess, was  conversing  pleasantly,  and  missing  nothing  while 
he  conversed,  his  keen  blue  eyes  seeking  the  souls  of  the 
other  guests,  under  their  society  manner.  He  seemed  too 
impersonal  to  be  brilliant.  Dr.  Hunt  was  at  Mrs.  Sor- 
dello's  left,  enjoying  the  delicate  flavor  of  his  Burgundy, 
and  saying  little  with  zest. 

"If  I  lived  in  Oxford,"  Mrs.  Sordello  said  to  fill  up 
a  pause  in  the  conversation,  "I  should  never  leave  it. 
Such  a  paradise  of  ivy  and  Gothic  as  it  is !  ■ ' 

"Its  very  perfection  drives  us  away,"  Dr.  Beau- 
champ  said,  a  faint  smile  lighting  up  his  fine,  clear-cut 
features.  "We  are  afraid  of  becoming  crystallized— of 
living  too  much  in  the  past. ' ' 

"We  have  our  troubles  here,"  said  Mrs.  Joyce;  "but 
becoming  crystallized  is  not  one  of  them.  Did  you  ride 
on  a  New  York  cable-car,  Dr.  Beauchamp?" 

He  laughed. 

"Yes.    I  had  that  experience  several  times." 

"It  does  not  promote  a  belief  in  sweetness  and  light, 
does  it!" 

167 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

"  No ;  but  it  does  make  one  believe  in  American  good- 
humor— and  nonchalance  under  difficulties." 

"The  more  timid  among  us  remain  in  the  rural  dis- 
tricts," Dr.  Hunt  said,  with  a  grim  smile. 

"After  all,  the  country  is  the  true  place  in  which 
to  cultivate  the  little  plant  happiness,"  Dr.  Beauchamp 
said. 

Mrs.  Joyce  pouted. 

"It  doesn't  make  me  happy.  I'm  like  the  Brooklyn 
man  who  said  his  idea  of  heaven  was  to  be  always  going 
to  New  York. ' ' 

"That  man  had  imagination,"  said  Mrs.  Sordello; 
"it  was  the  going,  not  the  arriving.  He  knew  the  real- 
ity was  never  up  to  the  expectation. ' ' 

"What  a  tremendous  range  men's  ideas  of  happiness 
cover,"  said  Dr.  Beauchamp.  "I  suppose  our  concep- 
tion of  what  constitutes  happiness  is  a  fair  measure  of 
our  civilization." 

"Let  us  canvass  the  table,"  Mrs.  Sordello  said.  "Dr. 
Hunt,  what  is  your  conception  of  happiness?" 

"The  present  moment." 

"If  you  take  refuge  in  compliments  we  shall  have 
no  interesting  revelations  of  character.  The  truth, 
please. ' ' 

"I  gave  you  a  truthful  answer,  but  if  you  wish 
another— my  conception  of  happiness  is  a  friendly 
dog  at  my  feet  and  an  uncut  edition  de  luxe  in  my 
hands." 

' '  Beautiful !    Dr.  Penf old,  what  is  yours  ? ' ' 

"Mine,  Mrs.  Sordello— a  good  cigar,  and  an  unknown 
quantity,  the  more  elusive  the  better." 

Barbara  smiled  across  at  her  husband.  She  seemed 
168 


A   GLIMPSE    INTO   A    KINGDOM 

as  pleased  by  his  little  speech  as  if  it  had  been  a  gallant 
token  to  her  bridehood. 

''And  yours,  Miss  Ravenel?" 

"Now,  Perdita,  speak  the  truth,"  Mrs.  Joyce  said 
"Don't  hide  behind  your  wit." 

"I  shall  hide  behind  Maeterlinck  and  say  the  en- 
chantment of  the  disenchanted. ' ' 

A  laugh  went  up. 

* '  Now,  Mr.  Waring,  yours ! ' ' 

"To  have  a  joy  withdrawn  while  you're  at  the  height 
of  it." 

"Ah,  you  people  of  a  younger  generation!"  Profes- 
sor Sordello  said;  "how  you  revel  in  subtleties.  No  one 
has  asked  me  yet  my  conception  of  happiness. ' ' 

"Tell  us,"  Perdita  said. 

"To  be  able  to  endow  a  theatre  for  the  revival  of 
Elizabethan  drama." 

"Will  you  give  me  a  life-chair  in  the  orchestra?" 
said  Perdita. 

Dr.  Beauchamp  leaned  a  little  toward  his  hostess. 

"Will  you  not  ask  the  lovely  young  woman  in  white 
her  conception  of  happiness?" 

"Ah,  that  is  the  bride,  Mrs.  Penfold." 

"Is  she  a  bride?    Her  expression  is  sad." 

"Mrs.  Penfold,  will  you  not  tell  us  yours?" 

Mrs.  Sordello  spoke  sweetly,  a  look  of  encouragement 
in  her  eyes.  Barbara's  beautiful  dress  had  pleaded  for 
her  this  evening. 

She  blushed  now,  feeling  the  eyes  of  the  company 
fixed  upon  her.  But,  as  once  before,  when  called  upon 
in  class  to  read  Virgil,  her  pride  came' to  her  rescue, 
mingled  with  another  feeling,  the  desire  to  do  credit  to 

169 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

her  husband.  She  was  silent  for  a  moment,  as  if  think- 
ing, then  she  said: 

"Isn't  it— when  one  has  done  the  best  one  can— to 
know  how  to  fail  gracefully?" 

There  was  a  half -suppressed  murmur  about  the  table. 
Waring  remembered  Barbara's  way  of  surprising  peo- 
ple.   Dr.  Beauchamp  leaned  forward. 

1  *  Mrs.  Penf  old, ' '  he  said  in  his  low  voice,  vibrant  with 
an  exquisite  courtesy,  "we  award  you  the  prize.  Some 
of  us  desired  the  improbable— but  at  least  one  can,  as 
you  say,  fail  gracefully." 

Barbara  was  mute.  She  had  brought  all  her  re- 
sources to  meet  the  moment,  and  had  nothing  more  to 
say.  The  art  of  small-talk  was  as  yet  unknown  to  her. 
Waring  wished  that  she  would  seize  her  opportunity, 
knowing  full  well  that  a  few  light  words,  a  few  little  co- 
quetries of  manner,  would  launch  her  upon  the  current 
of  Hallworth's  social  life.  But  he  saw  that  her  shyness 
clamped  her  again. 

1 '  And  she  '11  get  no  help  from  Penf  old, ' '  he  thought ; 
then  he  turned  to  her  and  asked  her  if  she  would  not 
come  to  the  next  meeting  of  the  League. 

All  through  the  dinner  Barbara  had  been  conscious 
of  an  undercurrent  of  unhappy  feeling.  From  the  mo- 
ment when  entering  radiant  her  husband's  study,  she 
had  sought  his  eyes  for  response  to  her  own  joy  in  her 
new  gown,  and  found  not  even  recognition,  she  had 
teased  her  heart  with  questions.  Why  did  he  not 
say  something?  Why  was  he  not  aware  of  the  pretty 
dress?  She  had  thought  his  absent-mindedness  as  a 
bachelor    the   result    partly    of   his    loneliness.      As   a 

170 


A    GLIMPSE    INTO   A   KINGDOM 

wife  she  expected  to  dispel  it.  The  conviction  forced 
itself  upon  her  that  she  was  not  making  the  proper  im- 
pression on  her  husband.  " Perhaps  he  doesn't  need  me 
enough,"  she  thought,  and  she  resolved  to  ask  him  that 
evening  about  his  new  book  and  bespeak  her  help  with  it. 

Dr.  Penfold,  always  glad  to  get  back  to  his  own  en- 
vironment, had  put  on  his  slippers  and  a  smoking- jacket, 
and  was  enjoying  the  cigar  that  was  to  put  him  in  tune 
with  his  work.  Barbara,  still  in  her  evening-dress,  came 
and  stood  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  fireplace. 

4 'Do  you  like  my  gown?"  she  said. 

"It  is  very  pretty." 

' '  But  you  didn  't  tell  me  so  to-night. ' ' 

"Don't  expect  too  much  of  me,  Barbara  dear.  I 
never  learned  to  say  the  usual  things." 

"Ah,  but  did  you  think  them?"  she  said  gravely. 

He  smiled. 

"You  are  determined  to  corner  me.  My  head  was 
full  of  business,  dear,  and  I  frankly  confess  that  I 
didn 't  see  the  pretty  gown  until  Waring  spoke  of  it. ' ' 

She  looked  wistful.  "I  don't  care  so  much  about 
your  saying  things— if  you'll  only  think  them." 

He  laughed.  "I'll  try.  You  must  train  me,  Bar- 
bara.   Come  here,  little  girl." 

She  went  over  to  him  obediently.  He  took  both  her 
hands  in  his. 

"Whether  I  see  or  whether  I  don't— whether  I  speak 
or  whether  I  don't,  always  remember  that  I  love  you 
well,  that  I  need  you!" 

A  soft  glow  overspread  her  face,  as  if  some  lamp  of 
truth  had  been  lit  within  her. 

171 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

"You  need  me!  You'll  let  me  help  you  with  the 
book,  won't  you?" 

He  laughed. 

1 1  Do  you  want  me  to  break  my  arm  again  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  no.  But  won't  there  be  something  for  me 
to  do?" 

"I  am  afraid  not,  Barbara;  and  to  be  truthful  I  do 
work  better  alone.  I  don't  want  to  shut  you  out, 
but " 

"But  what- can  I  do,  then,  to  be  of  some  use  here?" 
she  cried,  with  a  note  in  her  voice  new  to  him,  of  protest, 
of  questioning.  ' '  Mehitabel  takes  care  of  you.  You  trust 
her  where  you  don't  trust  me— I  can't  help  you  in  your 
work.    What  can  I  do?" 

"I  hope  the  future  will  tell  you  that,"  her  husband 
said  softly,  and  then  a  realization  swept  over  him  that 
standing  there  by  his  side  she  looked  very  young  and 
fair.  He  put  his  cigar  aside  and  drew  her  down  to 
him. 

"Let  me  look  more  closely  at  this  wonderful  dress." 

But  Barbara  drew  back,  suddenly  rigid  with  a 
taunting  thought. 


172 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

INTUITIONS. 

Waring,  in  an  official  atmosphere  of  litter,  was  mak- 
ing up  the  May  number  of  College  and  State.  A  cold 
March  rain  beat  against  the  windows  overlooking  the 
main  street  of  Sparta.  The  office  was  bare  and  dreary, 
chiefly  because  the  editor  had  concentrated  all  the  com- 
fort and  attractiveness  at  his  command  in  the  adjoining 
meeting  and  reading  rooms  of  the  League.  It  was  part 
of  his  plan  that  these  should  be  open  not  only  to  mem- 
bers, but  to  the  students  in  general.  Waring 's  own 
career  at  college  had  been  rose-padded,  but  he  was  keenly 
aware  of  that  proportion  of  the  student-body,  never  small 
at  Hallworth,  who,  because  of  poverty,  or  lack  of  mag- 
netism, or  overseriousness,  went  through  their  four  years 
with  little  or  no  social  life,  living  for  the  most  part  in 
environments  devoid  of  beauty.  Waring,  remembering 
one  or  two  interiors  of  these  second-class  houses,  resolved 
to  make  his  rooms  as  luxurious  as  possible,  and  to  let  it 
be  known  that  they  were  open  to  the  student-public. 
The  Emperor  and  Allaire,  divining  his  purpose,  had  en- 
listed the  sympathy  of  Mrs.  Maturin,  of  whom  a  wit  had 
lately  said  that  losing  her  husband  she  had  espoused  the 
University.  Her  devotion  to  Hallworth  was  puzzling 
even  to  Waring;  but  Perceval,  with  the  insight  of  a 
lover,  knew  that  her  two  years  of  happy  union  with  its 
former  President  had  swathed  the  whole  institution  in 
romance. 

173 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

Her  interest  in  the  League  took  the  form  of  a  mu- 
nificent gift  of  beautiful  furniture  for  the  rooms,  which 
had  carpets  and  hangings  of  dull  blue.  Some  pictures 
from  her  gallery  were  loaned,  a  Stuart  portrait  of  Wash- 
ington holding  the  place  of  honor.  The  reading-room 
she  supplied  with  current  reviews,  the  book-shelves 
with  the  current  works  on  political  topics,  besides  keep- 
ing the  vases  and  bowls  full  of  flowers  from  her  hot- 
houses. The  Emperor's  contribution  was  an  elaborately 
fitted-out  tea-table,  to  which  her  fraternity,  who  had  re- 
fused to  be  given  up,  made  offerings  of  cups  and  saucers. 
Once  a  week  the  editorial  staff  was  at  home  to  the  Uni- 
versity, and  Waring,  having  succeeded  in  making  the 
League  fashionable,  left  it  to  run  itself  for  the  most 
part,  and  gave  his  time  to  the  magazine.  The  allegori- 
cal figure  of  Truth  on  the  first  number  had  been  re- 
placed by  a  sober,  plain  green  cover,  bearing  the  list  of 
contents.  This  list  was  an  abiding  joy  to  Waring.  It 
sounded  so  well. 

A  portion  of  College  and  State  was  devoted  espe- 
cially to  the  interests  of  Hallworth,  and  students  were 
paid  to  contribute  articles  on  the  idea  of  a  university  as 
they  conceived  it.  Abuses  were  also  attacked,  and  War- 
ing, although  a  fraternity  man,  was  now  writing  a  series 
of  papers  on  the  history  of  the  fraternity  system,  and  its 
significance  to  college  life,  in  which  the  bias  was  clearly 
against  it.  The  introductory  article  brought  him  a  note 
of  congratulation  from  the  President,  whose  well-known 
attitude  had  caused  him  to  be  accused  of  a  desire  to 
anglicize  Hallworth.  Waring  smiled  over  the  note,  and 
was  glad  that  ambition  and  honesty  had  so  far  gone 
hand  in  hand.    He  sometimes  marveled  at  Dutton's  ap- 

174 


INTUITIONS 

parent  content  in  year  after  year  grinding  the  mill  of 
an  assistant  professorship,  with  no  attempt  to  rise  or  to 
peep  over  the  fence  about  Hallworth  into  the  great 
world.  It  was  Waring 's  theory  that  unless  a  university 
man  constantly  remembered  the  great  world,  the  great 
world  would  forget  him. 

He  still  had  his  mail  to  examine  before  he  could  go 
into  the  next  rooms,  where  sounds  told  him  that  the 
function  of  afternoon  tea  had  already  begun.  Looking 
over  the  envelopes  he  selected  one  whose  superscription 
aroused  his  curiosity.  It  was  from  the  trustees  of  a 
little  Western  university  of  which  he  had  never  heard, 
offering  him  a  full  professorship  in  the  chair  of  politi- 
cal economy.  He  was  reading  it  when  Dutton  entered, 
and  he  handed  it  to  him  without  a  word. 

"I  congratulate  you,  Waring."  His  face  fell. 
"You'll  take  it,  of  course." 

"I  wouldn't  think  of  such  a  thing." 

"Heaven  be  praised!  We  won't  lose  you,  then — 
but  why?" 

M I  'd  rather  be  second  in  Rome  than  first  in  Kansas. ' ' 

"But  how 'did  they  hear  of  you?"  Dutton  asked 
naively. 

Waring  laughed. 

"Hear  of  such  an  unknown  quantity?  College  and 
State,  I  suppose.  We  have  a  Kansas  subscriber,  by  the 
way ;  I  wonder  if  he  sent  them  a  copy. ' ' 

' '  They  evidently  think  you  know  something  of  politi- 
cal economy,"  Dutton  said,  looking  dazed. 

Waring  laughed  again. 

"And  you  know  better— don't  you,  old  chap?  I'll 
say  no,  thank  you,  to  Kansas.  I  know  its  type— a  high- 
ly 175 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

school  equipment,  half-starved  faculty,  and  the  rawest 
kind  of  degrees.  I  am  going  to  run  some  articles  soon  on 
1  Bastard  Colleges  of  the  United  States,  and  Their  Detri- 
ment to  Citizenship.'  I'd  like  to  found  a  manual  train- 
ing-school in  place  of  every  one  of  them. ' ' 

Dutton  looked  admiringly  at  his  friend.  The  impos- 
sible seemed  always  about  to  happen  when  Waring  was 
around. 

The  junior  class-yell  at  that  moment  beat  up  against 
the  windows.  Glancing  out,  they  saw  a  number  of 
juniors  in  close  colloquy.  The  group  growing  larger  and 
larger,  the  two  men  opened  the  window  a  moment  to 
find  the  cause  of  the  disturbance. 

"Oh,  I  know,"  Dutton  said,  suddenly  shutting  the 
window  again.  "They  want  Williams  back.  They  con- 
signed Hunt  to  hell  all  last  evening,  but  I  doubt  if  he'll 
oblige  them  by  going." 

"We  had  Williams's  petition  for  the  spring  term  at 
the  last  meeting  of  the  Faculty.  But  Hunt  won't  con- 
sider it." 

"I  think  he's  right. 

"I  should  not  like  to  cross  his  will,"  Waring  said 
musingly.  ' '  If  they  want  him  they  've  come  to  the  right 
place.  He  told  me  he  might  drop  in  this  afternoon  for 
a  cup  of  tea." 

"Any  of  the  Faculty  Wife?" 

1 '  I  sent  a  special  invitation  to  Mrs.  Penf old. ' ' 

"How  is  she?    I  haven't  seen  her  for  a  long  time." 

"Well,  I  guess,"  Waring  answered  carelessly, 
"they  don't  go  out  much.  The  Doctor's  frightfully 
busy,  and  she  won't  venture  alone.  I  know  she  has  re- 
fused several  invitations  this  winter. ' ' 

176 


INTUITIONS 

"That  seems  a  pity." 

"Yes;  if  she  waits  for  him  she'll  wait  forever.  He 
was  never  a  society  man— by  the  wildest  stretch  of  the 
imagination.  By  the  way,  I  met  Perceval  this  after- 
noon, walking  like  mad  through  the  country,  and  white 
as  a  ghost.  He  told  me  he  had  just  come  from  a  child 
with  scarlet  fever,  and  was  taking  a  bath  of  fresh  air; 
but  I  thought  something  else  was  up,  for  he  looked  hag- 
gard." 

"I  know  why  we  all  like  him,"  Waring  said..  "It's 
because  he's  a  mystery.  I'd  like  to  look  into  the  heart 
under  the  cassock. ' ' 

' '  Do  you  think  he 's  a  good  man  1 ' ' 

Waring  sighed,  then  laughed.  Dutton's  literalness 
weighed  on  him  sometimes  like  shadowless  noon. 

"I  think  he's  a  saint  just  because  he's  been  a  sin- 
ner at  one  time— could  be  one  yet;  otherwise  he'd  be  a 
good-for-nothing  saint. ' ' 

Dutton  shivered. 

"It's  cold  in  this  den  of  yours.  I  think  I'll  go  in 
and  get  a  cup  of  tea. ' ' 

"All  right,  my  Jonathan,  I'll  join  you  in  a  few 
minutes. ' ' 

But  he  worked  on  for  nearly  an  hour.  When  he  left 
his  desk,  at  last,  he  found  the  adjoining  rooms  full  of 
students,  with  the  Emperor  presiding  at  the  tea-table, 
an  embodied  challenge  to  masculine  admiration.  Bar- 
bara was  seated  near  her,  and  Mrs.  Maturin  and  the 
President  were  talking  by  the  fire.  Waring,  seeing  that 
Mrs.  Penfold  had  not  noticed  his  entrance,  gave  himself 
a  moment  to  study  her.    He  thought  she  looked  pale  and 

177 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

etherealized,  her  face  as  delicately  cut  as  a  Burne-Jones 
drawing;  but  poised  between  potential  beauty  and  po- 
tential matronly  tarnish.  What  if  she  should  become 
thin  and  commonplace  and  sallow!— perish  the  thought! 
The  eagerness  to  escape  it  brought  him  to  her  side. 

"Had  I  known  you  were  here  I  should  not  have 
lingered  so  over  my  work." 

"I'm  glad  you've  come,"  she  said  simply.  "It  is  so 
long  since  I  have  seen  you." 

"I've  been  so  busy." 

She  nodded,  without  a  smile. 

"I  know!— every  one  is  busy  here — except  myself." 

She  spoke  with  an  accent  of  bitterness.  He  was 
touched. 

"Mrs.  Penfold,  may  I  speak  very  plainly?  Don't 
you  think  you  ought  to  take  more  advantage  of  what 
Hallworth  offers  you  ? ' ' 

She  raised  her  large  gray  eyes.  He  noticed  how  long 
the  lashes  were  which  shaded  them. 

"In  what  way?"  she  said. 

"Go  out  more.  I  know  some  of  these  affairs  are 
deadly  stupid ;  we  all  know  that ;  but  we  all  go  to  hold 
up  our  end  of  the  line— and  we  can't  spare  you." 

He  spoke  earnestly,  and,  looking  up  in  his  face,  the 
thought  crossed  her  mind  that  its  gravity  became  him. 
Waring 's  nonchalance  had  always  seemed  to  her  his 
most  striking  characteristic.  Now  she  found  herself 
wondering  if  she  really  knew  him. 

"You  remember  I  am  not  a  social  being,"  she  said, 
with  a  ghost  of  a  smile,  "and  I  had  the  poorest  of 
preparations  for  such  a  life  as  this.  I  am  too  serious— 
too  literal,  oh,  I  do  not  know  what,  but  I  feel  my  defects. 

178 


INTUITIONS 

I  did  not  feel  them  at  Kingsbrook,  for  my  life  was 
bound  up  with  another  life,  and  in  such  perfect  affec- 
tion—and companionship  you  do  not  realize " 

She  stopped  short,  and  Waring  in  his  astonishment 
was  conscious  of  one  clear  idea,  to  save  her  from  real- 
izing that  she  had  betrayed  herself. 

"You  need  not  fear  the  mirror  of  society,' '  he  said 
quickly;  "only  take  courage  and  smile  at  it,  and  it  will 
answer  your  smile." 

She  looked  up  at  him  dreamily. 

"You  see,  as  a  child  I  smiled  when— I  was  happy— 
and  that  wasn't  discipline."  The  color  rushed  to  her 
face.  "You're  not  always  happy  in  society,"  she  added 
quickly— "however  happy  you  are  at  home." 

"I  think  you  can  be,  if  you  don't  take  it  too  seri- 
ously," Waring  went  on;  "and  we  are  heavy  enough 
at  Hallworth ;  we  need  your  carelessness. ' ' 

"What  are  they  shouting  about  in  the  streets?"  she 
asked  suddenly. 

"The  juniors  want  Williams  back,  and  they'll  have 
him  if  there  is  not  a  throat  left  in  the  class." 

*  *  Ah,  it  isn  't  my  class,  then,  that 's  misbehaving  ? ' ' 

' '  Your  class !  Oh,  I  remember,  this  would  have  been 
your  sophomore  year." 

"Some  day  I'm  going  to  ask  them  all  to  come  to  see 
me,  the  class  I  never  knew,"  Barbara  said  impulsively. 
"If  I  ever  give  a  reception  it  shall  be  to  them." 

Waring  nodded— and  smiled. 

"You  should  atone  to  them  for  your  scorn  of  them — 
in  your  freshman  year." 

"I  didn't  scorn  them.  I  did  worse.  I  didn't  know 
they  existed. ' ' 

179 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

"Is  indifference  the  unforgivable  sin?  Yes,  I  think 
we  prefer  hate  to  indifference. ' ' 

"You'll  have  your  preference,  Mr.  Waring,"  the 
Emperor  interrupted,  "if  you  go  Don  Quixoting  too 
much  in  our  incomparable  magazine.  Barbara,  take  my 
place  a  moment.  I  have  a  bit  of  business  with  the  Presi- 
dent, and  I  can't  ask  him  to  come  to  me." 

A  man  approached  Barbara  for  a  cup  of  tea.  He  had 
a  sleepy,  good-natured  face  and  an  indifferent,  gentle- 
manly manner. 

"Beastly  day,"  he  vouchsafed,  as  Barbara  fixed  the 
cup  and  asked  if  it  was  to  be  cream  or  lemon. 

He  carried  the  offering  to  a  pretty,  blonde  girl  who 
sat  in  a  window-seat,  looking  down  the  street.  Her 
rather  commonplace  expression  vanished  as  she  turned 
her  face  to  his,  and  animation  enhaloed  her  rosily.  Hart- 
ley McVeagh  watched  her  as  she  talked  to  him  gaily, 
nervously,  like  a  girl  in  love.  Since  she  had  had  Mrs. 
Maturin's  backing  her  value  had  increased  greatly  in  his 
eyes.  Mrs.  Maturin  herself,  gracious,  stately,  impersonal, 
never  in  the  way,  and  never  out  of  the  way,  he  did  not 
understand ;  but  the  luxury  of  her  house  he  could  under- 
stand, and  its  chaperonage  of  Madge.  Having  only  seen 
her  against  the  somewhat  thin  decoration  of  a  fraternity 
house,  he  found  her  prettiness  enhanced  by  the  solidity 
of  wealth.  Besides,  whether  owing  to  Mrs.  Maturin's 
influence  or  whether  the  girl  had  come  under  the  spell 
of  her  new  background,  she  visibly  gained  in  dignity. 
McVeagh  had  almost  made  up  his  mind  to  marry  her— 
at  his  leisure. 

This  afternoon  his  hand  was  unexpectedly  forced. 
In  the  middle  of  a  sentence  he  caught  sight  of  a  big 

180 


INTUITIONS 

bunch  of  double  violets  lying  on  the  seat  by  Madge's 
side. 

\ ' Whose  are  those?" 

"Mine." 

"Did  you  purchase  them,  may  I  ask?" 

"They  were  sent  me." 

"May  I  ask  by  whom?" 

Color  swept  over  her  face. 

' '  You  have  no  right  to  ask. ' ' 

"  No ;  but  I  want  the  right.    You  know  what  I  mean. 
I  want  you  to  marry  me." 

"Hartley,  I  don't  know  about  that." 

He  grew  rigid  with  astonishment. 

"You  mean "    His  sleepy  eyes  opened  wide. 

"I  mean  I  should  do  nothing  rashly — now." 

' '  You  know  you  love  me. ' ' 

He  spoke  in  a  low  whisper. 

"Hush,  they  will  hear." 

"You  know  you  do." 

"I  do,"  she  said,  a  break  in  her  voice. 

"Well?" 

"Well,    that    is    no    reason    why    I    should    marry 
you. ' ' 

"You  are  growing  very  subtle,  Madge.     Is  it  asso- 
ciation with  Mrs.  Maturin?" 

"Hush,  she  has  been  your  very  best  friend." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  he  said  coldly.     "But  her 
friendship  takes  the  form  of  prejudicing  you " 

"She  has  never  influenced  me  one  way  or  the  other 
— never  spoken  even." 

"Then  what  the " 

' '  Hartley,  be  careful. ' ' 

181 


THE    LAW    OF    LIFE 

The  sleepy  mask  had  dropped  from  his  face.  Some- 
thing very  like  pain  was  in  his  eyes. 

"This  room  is  suffocating.  I  am  going  for  a  walk. 
You  will  excuse  me?" 

"Yes." 

"Good-by." 

"Good-by." 

Barbara,  who  had  been  watching  the  two  idly  from 
across  the  room,  now  heard  the  words  of  farewell 
and  saw  the  girl's  pallor.  She  rose  and  went  over  to( 
her. 

"May  I  give  you  another  cup  of  tea?"  she  whis- 
pered. 

"No,  indeed,  thank  you,  Mrs.  Penfold.  I  think  Mrs. 
Maturin  is  going  soon. ' ' 

Her  voice  trembled.  Suddenly,  impulsively,  she 
reached  for  the  bunch  of  violets. 

' '  Don 't  you  want  these  ? ' '  she  said.  • '  I  don 't  care— 
for— violets— and  they  oughtn't  to  die  here." 

Barbara  took  them,  understanding  by  a  sudden  flash 
of  intuition.  Was  she  always  to  play  the  negative  role? 
—to  look  on  and  understand? 

When  she  went  back  to  the  tea-table,  the  violets 
pinned  to  her  little  gray  silk  blouse,  the  President  ap- 
proached her. 

1 '  And  how  is  Mrs.  Penfold  ?  "  he  said  kindly. 

"Very  well,  I  thank  you.  May  I  give  you  a  cup  of 
tea?" 

He  smiled. 

"Yes,  I  think  you  may.  The  necessity  of  a  speech  is 
upon  me,  and  I  shall  need  a  stimulus. ' ' 

182 


INTUITIONS 

A  large  number  of  students  had  by  this  time  as- 
sembled under  the  windows  of  the  club.  They  were 
calling  for  Dr.  Hunt  loudly,  importunately,  yet  with  the 
baffled  note  of  failure  in  their  hoarse  voices.  For  nearly 
six  months  they  had  pitted  their  strength  against  his, 
their  will  against  his,  in  the  matter  of  the  restoration 
of  Williams;  and  had  found  something  of  the  tenacity 
of  the  bulldog  Melampus  in  the  character  of  the  head  of 
Hallworth,  a  quality  which  compelled  their  admiration 
in  spite  of  themselves.  Williams's  conduct  had  been  fla- 
grant, but  his  nonchalance  and  his  wealth  combined  were 
a  kind  of  protecting  aura.  The  battle  for  him  had  be- 
come the  more  serious  when  the  President's  obduracy 
was  known. 

Dr.  Hunt  drank  his  cup  of  tea  and  talked  to  Barbara 
in  his  somewhat  sardonic  fashion,  which  made  its  own 
appeal  to  her.  She  was  never  embarrassed  by  uncon- 
ventional people.  The  great  bulldog  gazing  sleepily  into 
the  fire  ignored  the  assemblage  within  doors.  His  master 
for  the  moment  ignored  the  assemblage  outside. 

The  students  in  the  club-room,  the  majority  of  whom 
were  seniors  and  post-graduates,  had  been  watching  the 
President  closely.  His  grim,  commanding  figure,  tower- 
ing beside  the  little  tea-table,  belittled  the  vanities  of  the 
occasion,  and  suggested  an  approaching  transition  to 
sterner  work.  They  did  not  have  long  to  wait.  He  put 
down  his  cup  and  stepped  to  a  French  window  opening 
on  a  covered  balcony.  Those  inside  gathered  back  of 
him,  Barbara  among  the  rest,  curious  to  watch  the  little 
comedy.  * 

A  roar  from  the  street  greeted  his  appearance.  The 
junior  yell  went  up,  mingled  with  the  name  Williams. 

183 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

Dr.  Hunt  gazed  quietly  down  on  the  throng,  an  amused 
smile  on  his  firm,  clear-cut  lips. 

There  was  a  lull. 

"Young  gentlemen,  what  can  I  do  for  you?" 

"Reinstate  Williams,"  said  a  clear  voice  from  the 
crowd. 

"Young  gentlemen,  Hall  worth  is  not  a  reforma- 
tory." 

A  shout  of  laughter  rose  for  an  instant. 

" nor  a  kindergarten." 

" nor  a  refuge  for  that  genus  which  our  English 

cousins  call  'cad.'  These  things  it  is  not.  In  return  I 
should  like  to  have  you  tell  me  what  you  think  it  is.  I 
will  give  a  hundred  dollars  in  gold  to  the  junior  who 
sends  to  College  and  State  before  the  end  of  the  term  the 
best  paper  on  what  Hallworth  stands  for,  or  should 
stand  for.    Young  gentlemen,  I  bid  you  good-evening." 

The  crowd  in  the  street  melted  away,  and  the  Presi- 
dent re-entered  the  club-room.  Waring  turned  to  Dut- 
ton. 

"I  should  not  wish  to  come  into  collision  with  Dr. 
Hunt, ' '  he  said. 

At  that  moment  Barbara,  looking  childlike,  ap- 
proached and  held  out  her  hand. 

1 '  I  have  been  thinking  of  what  you  said.  I  shall  try 
—to  do  better." 

"Oh,  please,  you  took  me  too  seriously.  You  make 
me  feel  that  I  was  impertinent. ' ' 

"No;  I  want  you  to  tell  me— to  set  me  right." 

Waring,  looking  down  at  her,  was  stirred  with  a  new 
emotion,  a  desire  to  put  what  knowledge  of  life  he 
possessed  at  her  service. 

184 


INTUITIONS 

"It  was  only  that  I  thought  you  were  unkind  to 
Hallworth  to  keep  yourself  in  the  background. ' ' 
She  sighed,  but  made  no  answer. 


185 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE  CALL  OP   THE  CHILD. 

"Barbara— oh,  I  beg  pardon,  my  dear,  I  did  not 
know  you  were  here — what  is  the  matter?" 

Barbara  rose  from  her  knees  by  the  bed,  her  prayers 
still  in  her  face.  She  wore  a  long,  white  dressing-gown. 
In  the  faint  light  of  the  night-lamp  she  looked  tall  and 
unreal. 

Her  husband  was  vaguely  disturbed.  He  had  never 
before  seen  her  on  her  knees,  nor  did  he  think  she  was 
the  kind  of  a  woman  to  express  her  religious  feeling  in 
outward  forms.  She  stood  silent,  facing  him,  a  look  in 
her  eyes  half-timid,  half -appealing. 

"My  dear,  don't  you  feel  well?"  he  asked,  a  note  of 
anxiety  in  his  voice. 

"I  am  well,  I  hope— Amos,"  she  added  solemnly.    "I 

was  praying  for "  she  caught  her  breath  with   a 

kind  of  sob— "for  our  child." 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment,  and  then  his  face,  some- 
what stern  and  abstracted  by  hours  of  hard  work, 
melted  into  tenderness. 

"Barbara,  dear,  have  you  known  this  long?" 

"About  two  months,"  she  said  softly. 

"I  am  glad— most  of  all  for  your  sake.  You  will  not 
be— so  lonely." 

"No." 

"You  have  been  lonely,  then?" 

"A-a  little." 

186 


THE    CALL    OF    THE    CHILD 

A  flush  spread  over  his  face.  He  came  over  to  her 
and  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  drawing  her  down  by  his 
side. 

"Barbara,  if  you  should  be  unhappy  through  me  I 
should  feel  that  I  had  betrayed  my  trust. ! ' 

"You  mean— to  Uncle  Robert?" 

"Yes." 

"I  think  if  I  knew  I  was  necessary  to  you  I  should 
be  quite  content." 

He  looked  troubled. 

"I  suppose  a  man's  work  always  comes  first,"  he 
said,  as  if  thinking  aloud.  "I  am  selfish,  Barbara.  I 
am  glad  to  have  you  here  to  turn  to— to  speak  to.  Is 
it  a  small  thing  that  you  have  taken  away  my  loneli- 
ness?" 

1 '  You  are  glad  to  have  me  here  ? ' ' 

"My  dear!" 

The  feeling  that  she  was  but  a  guest  in  her  husband 's 
house,  the  feeling  that  she  was  not  somehow  a  good 
woman,  had  interchanged  and  interchanged  through  this 
first  year  of  marriage,  till  sometimes  she  had  no  grasp 
whatever  on  her  own  personality.  But  since  the  first 
knowledge  stealing  in  on  her  from  the  infinite  that  she 
was  to  become  a  mother,  the  vague  idea  that  she  was  not 
a  good  woman  had  quite  departed.  Here  was  the  reason 
of  that  mystery  of  the  universe,  that  unsuspected  sea 
surrounding  the  paddock  of  her  girlhood,  into  whose 
depths  she  had  suddenly  been  plunged.  Above  its  dark 
and  hateful  waters  this  star  of  maternity  had  risen— to 
guide  her  to  what  haven  f  In  the  pain  of  this  wonderful 
experience  she  could  seek  purification,  in  its  joy  enlight- 
enment.    The  child  should  redeem  her  from  the  un- 

187 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

known  sin,  which  lurked  like  a  shadow  in  her  days. 
Now  if  she  could  feel  at  home,  feel  that  she  was  needed, 
she  might  regain  the  quiet  peace  of  her  early  life. 

She  put  her  head  down  upon  her  husband's  shoulder. 

"Amos,  I  want  to  be  happy— for  the  child's  sake." 

1 '  You  're  not  happy ! ' ' 

"I  don't  know— I'm  afraid  I  think  too  much." 

He  was  silent. 

"You  see  women  do,"  she  went  on,  feeling  that  he 
did  not  understand.    "Their  lives  are  not  filled  up." 

1 '  But  yours  will  be,  I  hope, ' '  he  said  gently. 

He  patted  her  shoulder  and  kissed  her  forehead. 
They  sat  for  a  while  silent.    Then  she  said : 

"Amos,  do  you  believe  in  God?" 

"Who  was  it  said  a  universe  without  a  god  would 
be  even  a  greater  mystery  than  one  with  one?  Yes,  I 
think  I  prefer  the  lesser  of  the  two  mysteries. ' ' 

' '  Do  you  believe  in  Christ  ? ' '  she  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

"Not  as  the  orthodox  believe,"  he  answered;  "but 
as  one  has  always  faith  in  a  noble  and  beautiful  char- 
acter." 

"I've  wanted  something  to  pray  to  since  I  knew 
about  the  child." 

"  I  do  not  think  I  have  ever  felt  the  desire  to  pray, ' ' 
Dr.  Penfold  said  simply;  "but  then,  hard  work  is  a 
great  outlet  for  emotion." 

"You  see,  I've  had  nothing  to  do,"  Barbara  said, 
with  faint  satire  in  her  voice.    "I  haven't  your  outlet." 

The  moment  after,  she  was  ashamed  of  having  spoken 
so.  The  child  must  be  protected  from  the  faults  of  her 
own  nature. 

"Dear,"  she  said  suddenly,  impetuously,  "if  I 
188 


THE    CALL    OF    THE    CHILD 

shouldn't  make  you  happy  I  should  never  forgive  my- 
self." 

He  smiled. 

"You  do  make  me  happy.  I  want  nothing  extraor- 
dinary.   A  little  bread  is  enough  for  me." 

She  sighed.  He  asked  so  little.  She  wished  that  his 
life  was  one  long  demand  on  hers;  but  a  thought  came 
forward  to  comfort  her.  Another  life  was  to  be,  which 
should  demand  all  things  of  her— love,  devotion,  tender- 
ness, sacrifice.  Already  that  star  beaconed  her  to  an  im- 
measurable distance  from  the  man  by  her  side.  She 
turned  in  sudden  remorse,  and  drew  a  little  closer  to 
him,  as  if  she  in  her  turn  had  left  him  lonely. 


189 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

AT  THE  END  OF  THE  TERM. 

The  weeks  that  followed  were  for  Barbara  the  hap- 
piest she  had  known  since  her  marriage.  As  a  woman  un- 
possessed of  the  secret  of  married  contentment,  she  had 
felt  herself  an  intruder.  As  a  guardian  of  a  soul  to  be, 
dignity  clothed  her  in  a  rich  purple  garment.  The  mother 
of  the  child  dare  not  give  way  to  doubt,  to  regret,  to  fruit- 
less ponderings  over  the  mystery  of  life;  but  must  be 
hopeful,  sunny,  care-free.  Barbara  ransacked  the  inner- 
most chambers  of  her  soul  for  stored-away  happiness, 
sunshine  of  long-ago  summers,  and  scent  of  violets  from 
vanished  springs ;  even  the  indoor  cheer  of  white  winter 
from  hearth-fires  long  extinguished.  This  heritage  she 
gave  to  the  child,  with  the  added  life  of  the  present, 
long  walks  in  the  May  sunshine,  and  votive  offerings  of 
the  latest  blossoms.  When  tired  of  the  out-of-door  day 
she  spent  hours  in  her  room,  no  longer  lonely,  reading 
conscientiously  the  best  books,  her  Virgil  and  her 
Shakespeare ;  even  wandering  into  the  pure  and  faultless 
classicism  of  Landor.  During  this  time  she  developed 
an  essentially  spiritual  and  virginal  beauty,  united  to 
earth  by  the  happiness  which  infused  it  like  rose-tint. 
Her  husband,  watching  her  with  the  almost  timid  won- 
der of  a  man  so  used  to  the  abstract  world  that  such  a 
natural  phenomenon  as  maternity  seems  strange  and  un- 
real, was  glad  of  her  peace.  She  ceased  to  haunt  his 
work. 

190 


AT    THE    END    OF    THE    TERM 

Barbara's  friends,  the  Emperor  and  Elizabeth,  not- 
ing the  change  in  her,  reinforced  her  with  their  youth. 
The  Emperor  was  skeptical  of  ultimate  happiness  for  the 
oddly  assorted  pair,  but  the  child  might  do  much  to 
bring  content  to  its  mother.  Elizabeth 's  speculations  went 
no  further  than  the  latest  patterns  of  baby-clothes.  The 
two  girls  spent  as  much  time  with  Barbara  as  the  press 
of  end-of-the-year  work  and  end-of-the-year  gaiety 
would  allow.  The  Emperor  was  to  graduate,  but  her 
sorrow  over  this  severing  of  ties  was  lessened  by  her  in- 
tention to  return  the  next  year  for  her  second  degree. 
Her  interest  in  it,  however,  was  secondary  to  her  interest 
in  College  and  State  and  its  editor,  Waring.  He  had 
begged  her  to  come  back  another  year,  saying  he  could 
not  do  without  her  help  on  the  magazine.  The  Em- 
peror was  not  unduly  nattered,  but  the  game  of  pit- 
ting her  somewhat  sardonic  wit  against  his  gallantry  had 
never-ending  attraction  for  her.  One  grudge  she  owed 
him— that  he  had  not  fallen  in  love  with  Barbara  when 
Barbara  was  a  freshman. 

They  sat  together  one  June  afternoon  in  the  office, 
dusty  and  dull  by  contrast  with  the  brilliant  sunshine 
out-of-doors.  The  adjoining  club-rooms  were  deserted. 
In  May  and  June,  the  country  about  Hallworth  taking 
on  the  loveliness  of  paradise,  students  roamed  through 
it  in  every  spare  moment  like  children  out  of  school. 
June  especially  was  the  time  for  heart-rending  last 
trips  to  favorite  places.  The  lake,  the  valley,  the  far 
blue  hills,  the  ravines  were  visited  by  boys  and  girls 
kissing  their  hands  to  childhood.  For  to  the  world-worn 
and  complacent  senior  came  suddenly  the  realization  on 
the  eve  of  parting  from  Hallworth  that  it  had  been  after 
13  191 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

all  the  guardian  not  of  his  manhood  but  of  the  last  of 
his  childhood.  On  the  other  side  of  commencement-day 
responsibilities  waited  gravely  for  him,  to  conduct  him 
where  the  echo  of  boyish  laughter,  of  dance  music,  of  the 
hum  of  study,  all  the  dear  sounds  of  Alma  Mater,  would, 
grow  fainter  and  fainter.  He  would  return,  yes,  but 
never  again  to  the  iridescent  country. 

The  Emperor  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  yawned. 

" Aren't  you  nearly  through  with  that  stupid 
proof  ff  she  said.  "I  haven't  the  conscience  to  leave 
you  to  struggle  with  it  alone. ' ' 

"No,  don't  go,"  Waring  implored;  "wait  just  ten 
minutes,  and  then  give  me  the  pleasure  of  rowing  you 
down  the  lake.  Dutton  is  going  to  take  Allaire  and  her 
mother  to  the  Point  for  supper,  and  we  might  join 
them." 

"The  whole  University  must  be  on  the  lake  this  after- 
noon." 

"Doubtless.  We'll  have  our  supper  and  come  back 
by  moonlight." 

"Shall  I  keep  still  till  you  finish  now?" 

Waring  smiled  and  bent  over  his  proof. 

Suddenly  he  looked  up  again. 

"Have  you  decided  on  the  list  for  the  club  recep- 
tion?" 

"Here  it  is." 

He  ran  it  over. 

"Margrave,  Joyce,  Cartwright,  Maturin,  Mervale, 
Stafford,  Penfold.  By  the  way,  what  has  become  of  Mrs. 
Penf old  1    I  never  see  her  when  I  call. ' ' 

"Mrs.  Penfold  is  not  going  out  now,"  the  Emperor 
said  bluntly. 

192 


AT   THE    END    OF    THE    TERM 

"Oh!" 

He  bent  his  head  over  his  work  again,  knitting  his 
dark  brows  and  compressing  his  lips;  calling  himself  a 
fool  for  asking  such  a  question.  A  vague  resentment 
stirred  in  him.  As  the  news  of  Barbara's  marriage  had 
filled  him  with  revolt,  so  this  news  aroused  a  strange 
kind  of  disdain.  During  her  freshman  year  she  had  ap- 
pealed strongly  to  certain  sides  of  his  nature.  After 
her  union  with  Penfold  he  forced  himself  to  forget  this 
appeal;  but  sometimes  it  made  its  existence  known  by 
such  a  surge  of  feeling  as  swept  over  him  now.  The 
girl  he  thought  so  rare  had  exchanged  her  rarity  for  the 
common  lot  of  woman— had  bartered  herself  for  a  home, 
a  shelter. 

He  put  her  out  of  his  mind,  lest  he  should  want  to 
hate  her.  Throwing  down  the  proof  impatiently  he 
turned  to  the  Emperor. 

"Let's  leave  this  stuffiness.  Can  you  go  straight  to 
the  lake  with  me?" 

"Straight.  I'm  choked  with  the  dust  of  learning- 
sick  of  it. ' ' 

1 '  Let 's  steer  for  the  purple  and  gold,  then, ' '  Waring 
said,  a  reckless  note  in  his  voice.  "We'll  go  where  we 
can  see  the  last  sunlight  against  the  little  palisades." 

"Wait  just  a  minute  till  I  scribble  a  message  to 
Elizabeth." 

He  watched  her  as  she  wrote.  This  girl,  with  her 
pale,  handsome  face,  inscrutable  dark  eyes  and  gallant 
bearing,  had  absorbed  his  earlier  prejudices  against  her 
in  a  kind  of  good  comradeship  of  her  own  making. 
Though  he  was  noted  for  his  chivalry,  she  for  her  co- 
quetry, they  had  managed  to  meet  and  work  together 

193 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

during  the  winter  untroubled  by  the  specter  of  sex. 
Both  of  them  having  rare  capacity  for  friendship,  they 
had  become  the  best  of  friends.  On  this  afternoon  War- 
ing, in  a  sudden  longing  for  iridescence,  wondered  how 
she  would  respond  to  a  challenge.  Some  one  had  said 
that  reaction  from  overwork  was  responsible  for  most  of 
the  romances  at  Hallworth. 

They  were  soon  away  to  the  lake.  It  welcomed  them 
with  a  sweet  fresh  wind,  rolling  out  as  blue  before  them 
as  if  of  melted  turquoise. 

" Shall  I  steer  for  the  Point!"  she  said,  as  Waring 
pushed  off. 

"No;  steer  for  Saunders's.  We'll  land  there,  and 
buy  some  sandwiches  and  things,  and  then  go  on 
to " 

"To  the  Point?" 

"No.  Why  not  let  us  have  a  picnic  a  deux,  and  eat 
our  supper  somewhere  opposite  the  palisades?" 

The  Emperor  regarded  him  a  moment;  then  an 
amused  expression  came  into  her  face.  If  this  was  to 
be  the  keynote  of  the  expedition  she  was  ready  to  re- 
spond to  it.    She  too  was  bored. 

He  sent  the  boat  flying  through  the  water.  The 
place,  the  scene,  recalled  Barbara,  and  a  similar  excur- 
sion. He  frowned  and  bent  over  his  oars.  They  passed 
many  other  boats,  gay  with  boys  and  girls.  Some  of 
them  bore  lanterns  in  green  and  white  for  the  evening's 
return. 

"The  senior  class  seems  to  be  out  in  full  force." 

He  raised  his  eyes  to  hers. 

"I  am  more  glad  than  I  can  say  that  you  are  com- 
ing back  next  year." 

194 


AT    THE    END    OF    THE    TERM 

She  smiled. 

"I  am  afraid  I  am  chiefly  valuable  to  you  as  a  staff- 
editor." 

''Haven't  we  been  too  altruistic?"  Waring  said 
gently.  "Sacrificed  too  much  for  that  wretched  maga- 
zine?" 

His  eyes  were  appealing.  She  met  them  noncha- 
lantly. 

"Tell  me  honestly  what  you  think  makes  life  worth 
living.    Don't  say  anything  sophomoric,  please." 

1 '  Love  and  work. ' ' 

"We've  had  a  good  deal  of  the  latter,"  she  said  dar- 
ingly, narrowing  her  eyes. 

"Does  the  former  come  at  call?"  he  returned  in 
challenge. 

' '  It  depends  on  who  calls. ' ' 

Her  eyes  were  mischievous.  Waring  longed  to  have 
her  take  him  seriously,  if  only  for  a  moment. 

"Do  you  believe— in  one  love?" 

"For  big  or  little  natures— yes.  We  in-betweens 
must  console  ourselves  with  many." 

"Still,  we  are  all  haunted  more  or  less  by  the  vision 
of— one  love,"  Waring  said. 

"Not  in  our  lucid  intervals." 

1 '  You  drive  me  to  pray  for  madness. ' ' 

So  they  tilted  while  the  boat  flew  on  to  its  goal.  By 
the  time  they  had  encamped  on  a  bit  of  sandy  beach, 
banked  with  pines,  they  had  created  by  hard  work  quite 
a  Watteau  atmosphere  of  gallantry  about  themselves, 
with  an  amused  sub-consciousness  of  its  artificial  na- 
ture. After  supper  they  watched  the  rocks  on  the  oppo- 
site shore  turn  from  pink  to  gold  and  from  gold  to 

195 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

crimson  as  the  sunset  deepened.  Then  in  the  soft  dull 
purple  of  the  east  a  big  moon  arose. 

"Hallworth— my  Hallworth,  I  hear  thy  happy 
bells,"  Warring  hummed,  and  the  Emperor  joined  in  the 
chorus  of  the  University  song.  In  the  distance  the 
towers  rose  grandly.    Little  lights  flashed  on  the  lake. 

They  sat  for  some  time  in  silence,  then  Waring 
turned  to  her,  his  expressive  face  making  the  most  of  the 
moonlight. 

1 '  May  I  say  some  things  to  you  ? ' ' 

"It  depends  on  what  they  are/'" 

He  smiled. 

"They  are  eminently  romantic." 

"Then  don't.  To  judge  from  your  eyes  they  are 
much  too  good  to  be  wasted  on  me.  Save  them  up  for 
the  one  great  romance." 

"But  I  belong  to  the  in-betweens,  by  your  own  tes- 
timony. ' ' 

"Richard  Waring,"  the  Emperor  said  solemnly, 
"nothing  would  cause  me  such  keen,  aesthetic  delight  as 
to  hear  the  kind  of  English  you'd  make  love  in;  but 
you  'd  be  sorry  some  day  you  wasted  it  on  me.  You  and 
I  were  born  to  be  friends. ' ' 

His  hearty  laugh  rang  out  in  the  night.  Then  he 
said  gravely,  "Thank  heaven  for  the  gift  of  that  friend- 
ship." 

She  extended  her  hand,  and  he  shook  it  heartily. 

"Let  us  never  be  romantic  again,"  she  said.  "It  is 
so  wearing." 

"What  a  disgraceful  pun!" 

The  Emperor  insisted  on  rowing  back.  Waring, 
steering  the  boat  toward  the  distant  lighthouse,  gave 

196 


AT   THE    END    OF   THE    TERM 

himself  np  to  dreams.  The  end  of  the  college-year  had 
found  the  beginning  of  his  ambition  realized.  The  fu- 
ture spread  fair  before  him,  interwoven  with  the  future 
of  Hallworth.  He  should  make  a  bride  of  his  university, 
he  thought;  work  for  her,  dream  for  her,  live  for  her. 


197 


CHAPTER  XX. 

TWO  PLANETS. 

"You  say  the  new  telescope  is  adequate?" 

1 '  Quite.  Last  night  was  cloudy,  but  the  night  before 
this  little  planet  was  plainly  visible.  To-night  I  think 
the  conditions  will  be  favorable  again.' ' 

Dr.  Penfold  and  Dr.  Weir,  the  astronomer  of  Hall- 
worth,  were  seated  on  the  porch  of  Dr.  Penfold 's  house, 
screened  from  the  glare  of  the  August  sun  by  a  net- 
work of  vines.  Noon,  shadowless,  stinging,  stale,  flat- 
tened out  the  campus,  which  in  its  silence  and  desertion 
resembled  a  city  of  the  dead.  The  summer-school  was 
over;  the  last  eager  student  had  departed.  Hallworth 
was  in  the  comatose  state  which  preceded  the  activities 
of  the  fall. 

Dr.  Weir,  full  of  enthusiasm  over  his  observations  of 
the  newly  discovered  planet  Eros,  had  braved  the  un- 
sheltered stretch  of  lawn  which  separated  his  house  from 
Dr.  Penfold 's  that  he  might  submit  some  calculations  to 
the  mathematician,  and  beg  his  assistance  for  the  com- 
ing night.  The  two  were  talking  eagerly,  earnestly, 
when  Mehitabel  appeared  at  the  door  and  asked  a  word 
with  her  master. 

"Don't  let  me  detain  you  further,"  Dr.  Weir  said, 
rising;  "but  you  will  surely  come  to-night?" 

"Without  fail.    About  what  time?" 

"About  eleven,  if  convenient." 

Dr.  Penfold  found  Barbara  stretched  on  the  bed,  her 
198 


TWO    PLANETS 

face,  through  the  twilight  of  the  room,  looking  white  and 
drawn.  A  deep,  tragic  shadow  of  coming  agony  was  in 
her  eyes.  During  these  last  weeks  of  sultry  summer  her 
idealism  had  failed  her,  leaving  her  stranded  in  a  desert 
of  material  realities.  She  lay  mute  and  baffled  on  this 
August  noon ;  less  creator  than  victim. 

Dr.  Penfold  bent  over  her. 

' '  My  dear,  do  you  feel  ill  ? ' ' 

"Very  ill,"  she  answered,  in  a  suffocated  voice. 

"Is  your  nurse  here?" 

"She  has  just  come." 

"Barbara,  dear,  do  you  want  me  to  stay  with 
you?" 

1 '  Not  if  you  have  to  work. ' ' 

"I  don't  have  to  work." 

"It  is  very  sultry,  isn't  it?" 

1  -  The  heat  is  most  oppressive. ' ' 

"Who  were  you  talking  with  on  the  porch?" 

"Dr.  Weir.  He  wants  me  to  assist  him  to-night  at 
some  observations  of  Eros." 

She  caught  her  breath. 

"You  will  not  stay  away  very  long?" 

"Why,  no,  my  dear.  Not  if  you'd  rather  have  me 
here." 

• '  It  doesn  't  matter ! ' '  she  said  wearily. 

There  was  a  long  pause. 

1 '  What  day  of  the  month  is  it  ? "  she  asked. 

"The  twenty-fourth  of  August." 

"People  do  not  die  so  easily  in  summer  as  in  winter, 
do  they?" 

' '  Why,  Barbara,  dear,  you  are  not  afraid  of  dying  ? ' ' 

"Yes,"  she  said  faintly,  then  added,  "not  of  dying— 
199 


THE    LAW   OF   LIFE 

no,  that  is  not  it— but  one  doCsn't  want  to  die,  so  igno- 
rant—knowing nothing— nothing— nothing. ' ' 

He  thought  her  feverish  and  tried  to  soothe  her;  but 
the  pain  and  confusion  increasing  upon  her,  he  went  at 
last  to  summon  help. 

The  weary  day  wore  itself  out.  Dr.  Penfold,  glad 
to  be  excluded  by  doctor  and  nurse  from  a  sick-room, 
where  he  was  conscious  only  of  his  forty  years'  isolation 
from  common  human  interests,  went  over  to  the  library 
and  buried  himself  in  the  German  seminary-room, 

Returning  to  dinner,  he  was  told  to  his  relief  that 
Barbara  had  not  asked  for  him  again;  and  that  in  all 
probability  there  would  still  be  hours  of  tedious  waiting. 
At  eleven,  having  no  further  word,  he  departed  for  the 
observatory,  glad  to  escape  from  the  oppressively  silent 
house.  Once  there,  and  the  wonders  of  the  heavens  un- 
rolling before  him  through  the  great  telescope,  a  recent 
magnificent  gift  to  the  University,  he  forgot  the  per- 
plexing affairs  of  earth  in  the  contemplation  of  Eros. 

Between  two  and  three  in  the  morning  Barbara  was 
lying  on  her  bed,  white  and  still  and  passive,  as  a  body 
prepared  for  its  last  rest.  Her  soul,  retreated  from  the 
scene  of  its  physical  anguish,  seemed  yet  beyond  call. 
The  physician,  an  old  man,  who  stood  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed,  looking  down  upon  her  with  grave  compassion, 
hoped  that  this  ebb  of  vital  force  might  carry  her  be- 
yond any  question  concerning  the  child.  At  that  mo- 
ment Mehitabel  was  weeping  bitterly  in  an  adjoining 
room  over  its  lifeless  form. 

The  physician  watched  and  waited.  Barbara  opened 
200 


TWO   PLANETS 

her  eyes  at  last  and  gazed  at  him  dreamily  from  a  great 
distance.     Then  her  soul  came  back. 

' '  Has  he  seen  the  child ! ' '  she  whispered. 

' '  Dr.  Penf  old  I    No ;  he  has  not  yet  returned. ' ' 

"I  remember— Eros." 

She  was  passive  again.  Then  a  light  stole  into  her 
face. 

1 '  I  want  my  baby. ' ' 

"Not  just  yet,  Mrs.  Penf  old.  You  are  very  weak 
yet— after  a  while,"  the  doctor  said  soothingly. 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  sudden  keenness  vivifying 
her  eyes. 

"You  need  not  be— afraid.  I  will  be  calm— still- 
only  let  me  see  my  child.' ' 

"Not  for  a  little  while,"  he  said  with  decision. 

An  expression  of  fear,  of  distrust,  stole  into  her  face. 

"Will  you  send  for  Dr.  Penf  old?" 

"I  will  go  myself." 

Mehitabel  accompanied  him  to  the  door.  She  was 
large-eyed  and  haggard.  "However  is  she  to  be  told?" 
she  said  in  a  hoarse  voice.  "She  set  her  heart  on  that 
baby." 

"Gradually,  my  good  woman." 

"Mrs.  Penf  old's  not  the  one  to  be  told  gradually. 
She  wants  the  truth.  Her  husband  ought  to  be  with 
her,  'stead  of  star-gazing. ' ' 

The  doctor  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Mehitabel  in  the 
character  of  an  old  servant  was  sometimes  abominably 
plain-spoken. 

Dr.  Penf  old  hurried  home  through  the  thick  darkness 
201 


THE   LAW    OF    LIFE 

which  precedes  the  dawn.  The  news  that  his  child  had 
been  still-born  filled  him  with  a  vague  sorrow,  which 
was  wholly  for  Barbara.  He  reproached  himself  for  re- 
maining so  long  at  the  observatory.  He  would  be  very 
tender  to  her,  he  thought;  very  attentive  during  her  re- 
covery. The  nurse  met  him  at  the  door  and  they  went 
up-stairs  together  in  silence. 

At  the  threshold  of  Barbara 's  room  she  whispered : 

'  'You  must  not  let  her  know  just  yet— for  a  few 
hours. ' ' 

Her  startled  cry  following  upon  her  words,  her 
glance,  her  gesture,  brought  him  sharply  to  himself. 
The  bed  was  empty. 

She  hesitated  but  an  instant,  then  her  professional 
instinct  guided  her  straight  to  the  room  across  the  hall. 
Dr.  Penfold  followed  her,  his  face  blanched  with  sud- 
den, nameless  fear.  As  she  threw  open  the  door  he  saw 
Barbara  lying  unconscious  on  the  bed,  one  arm  about 
the  form  of  her  child. 


202 


BOOK   THIRD 


THE   WOMAN. 


203 


CHAPTER  XXL 

INTO  WARING 'S  CARE. 

Mrs.  Maturin  sat  in  her  library  awaiting  Barbara, 
whom  she  had  asked  to  afternoon  tea. 

On  her  return  from  abroad  she  had  heard  of  Mrs. 
Penf old's  desperate  illness  and  slow  recovery,  and  meet- 
ing her  one  October  day  on  the  campus  she  had  ex- 
tended a  special  invitation  to  her,  moved  by  Barbara's 
white,  sad  face  and  remote  manner,  as  of  one  dwelling 
with  ghosts. 

While  she  waited  for  her  she  examined  her  afternoon 
mail.  Among  a  number  of  business  letters  was  a  formal 
invitation  from  the  editor  of  College  and  State  to  a  re- 
ception for  the  junior  class,  at  the  club-rooms,  and  a 
short  note  from  Perceval  on  a  matter  connected  with  his 
mission.  Over  this  note  she  sighed  a  little.  Its  crisp, 
businesslike  wording,  scarcely  friendly,  betrayed  the 
leash.  Mrs.  Maturin 's  spirit,  turned  by  grief  into  a  bar- 
ometrical register  of  others'  moods  and  emotions,  di- 
vined hidden  tempests  under  the  priest's  calm,  somewhat 
worldly  demeanor.  In  her  girlhood  such  a  combina- 
tion of  feeling  and  restraint  of  feeling  would  have 
pleased  her  as  the  most  perfect  form  of  homage.  Now, 
robbed  by  a  supreme  love  and  a  supreme  memory  of  all 
passion,  save  the  maternal,  she  was  distressed  by  this 
growing  knowledge  of  Perceval's  struggle.  That  he 
would  ever  speak  she  doubted,  knowing  his  devotion  to 
the  religion  of  silence.  Moreover,  she  divined  dimly  that 
something  more  than  her  own  preoccupation  with  the 

205 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

dead  withheld  him.  He  seemed  to  her  a  man  who,  like 
herself,  though  perhaps  from  antipodal  causes,  had  given 
inviolable  pledges  to  the  past. 

"It  is  good  of  you  to  come  to  me  to-day,  dear  Mrs. 
Penfold." 

Barbara  smiled  faintly  as  she  advanced  toward  her 
hostess.  The  tragic  virginity  of  those  unmarried  in  the 
spirit  was  about  her  in  all  its  bleakness. 

"I  didn't  want  to  come  at  all,  but  I  had  promised 
you,"  she  said,  with  a  reckless  frankness  which  Mrs. 
Maturin  at  once  took  note  of  as  a  possible  key  to  her 
guest's  hidden  temperament.  She  had  never  been  able 
to  find  Mrs.  Penfold  behind  the  apparent  simplicity  of 
her  youth  and  inexperience. 

"Iara  glad  I  had  bound  you  by  a  promise. ' ' 

"Was  I  rude?  Perhaps  you  know  what  it  is  to  feel 
as  if  you  did  not  wish  to  go  anywhere." 

"I  do,  indeed.  Sit  here.  I  will  put  the  glass  screen 
before  the  fire,  so  that  we  shall  miss  nothing." 

Barbara  sank  into  the  chair  as  one  physically  weary. 

"Those  purple  flames  are  beautiful,"  she  said.  "Do 
you  ever  long  for  certain  colors  according  to  your 
mood?" 

* '  Let  me  show  you  something. ' ' 

She  rose  and  went  to  a  set  of  cedar  drawers,  built  in 
between  the  bookcases.  From  one  of  them  she  took  a 
cope  of  purple  velvet,  heavily  embroidered  with  gold. 

"We  picked  this  up  in  Venice- we  bought  it  for  the 
delicious  color.  How  an  ecclesiastical  vestment  came  to 
be  on  sale  I  don 't  know,  ! ' 

"What  a  glorious  purple!  And  it  gleams  almost  red 
where  the  light  catches  it." 

206 


INfO   WAKING'S    CARE 

"I  take  it  out  sometimes  on  colorless  days  in  win- 
ter." 

Barbara  drew  the  heavy  folds  around  her,  feasting 
her  eyes  on  the  color,  as  if  it  gave  her  life.  She  exam- 
ined the  hem  curiously. 

"It  is  a  running  design  of  a  grape-vine;  at  the  cor- 
ners are  the  instruments  of  the  Passion,"  Mrs.  Maturin 
said. 

Barbara  leaned  back  in  the  chair,  enveloped  in  the 
cope,  its  rich  purple  throwing  into  relief  the  pallor  of 
her  face. 

"Are  you  quite  well  again?  I  was  more  sorry  than 
I  can  say  when  I  learned  that— your  little  child  did 
not— live." 

Tears  came  into  Barbara's  eyes.  She  turned  away 
her  head,  saying  nothing. 

Mrs.  Maturin  bent  over  the  letters  scattered  on  a 
near-by  table.  "Do  you  remember  Madge  Henry?"  she 
asked. 

' '  Very  well, ' '  Barbara  said,  recovering  herself. 

"I  heard  from  her  this  morning.  She  is  to  marry 
Mr.  McVeagh  in  a  fortnight. ' ' 

"She  loved  him  very  much.  They  should  be  very 
happy, ' '  Barbara  said,  half  under  her  breath. 

"I  think  they  will  be.  What  solidity  of  character 
Madge  gained  she  gained  by  this  devotion,  and  she  raised 
him  at  last  to  a  higher  level." 

"He  wasn't  a  good  man— was  he?" 

"No;  but  she  would  have  cared  in  any  case.  I 
sometimes  believe  in  destiny." 

"J  believe  in  it  altogether,"  Barbara  said,  the  sad- 
ness creeping  into  her  voice  again.  "We  think  we  are 
14  207 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

free,  but  we  are  children.     We  wake  up— we  grow  up 
and  find  ourselves  bound." 

She  spoke  without  bitterness,  and  with  a  curious 
calm  of  acceptance  which  seemed  to  Mrs.  Maturin  more 
tragic  than  revolt.  Mrs.  Penfold  was  plainly  not  a 
happy  woman.  Whether  this  unhappiness  was  transi- 
tory, due  to  the  loss  of  the  child,  or  permanent,  due  to 
deeper  causes,  she  could  not  tell.  In  either  case,  the  part 
of  youth  should  have  been  rebellion,  not  apathy. 

"lain  going  to  give  a  dinner  to  the  President  early 
in  November,"  Mrs.  Maturin  said,  moved  to  a  chal- 
lenge.   "May  I  depend  on  you?" 

Barbara  turned  her  large  eyes  toward  her  a  moment 
with  a  curious,  questioning  expression. 

"I  do  not  want  to  go  out  so  soon  after  the  death  of 
my  child." 

"But  should  you— stay  in  for " 

"For— for  a  child  that  didn't  live,  you  mean— that 
never  drew  a  breath. ' '  She  sat  up  straight  in  the  chair, 
the  heavy  purple  velvet  shrouding  her  slender  form,  all 
the  life  in  her  face  concentrated  in  her  appealing  eyes. 
"They  all  say  that  to  me— but  they  don't  know.  To 
them  it  was  nothing— it  had  no  life,  no  personality— 
but  to  me " 

Her  voice  broke. 

Mrs.  Maturin 's  eyes  were  dim. 

"To  you  it  was  a  soul— with  all  a  soul's  possibilities. 
Yes ;  I  understand. ' ' 

Barbara's  voice  softened. 

1 *  I  know  you  do. ' ' 

Mrs.  Maturin  studied  a  moment.  To  some  moods 
silence  must  minister,  to  others  speech. 

208 


INTO   WARING  S    CARE 

She  began  to  speak  in  a  gentle  voice. 

"To  you— through  you,  it  lived  its  life— was  a  child 
—a  man— a  citizen  of  the  world.  You  watched  the 
years  enrich  it.  Ah,  I  know!  I  who  never  had  a  child. 
You  have  its  soul  still  to  love  and  cherish.'  I  have  only 
my  dream-children." 

Barbara's  face  was  growing  calmer. 

"You  think  it  had  a  soul,"  she  whispered;  "though 
it  didn't  breathe  once?" 

"You  know  the  beautiful  story  of  the  Visitation  in 
St.  Luke  1 ' '  Mrs.  Maturin  said. 

"Yes.  I  can  believe  it  now.  It  was  written  for 
mothers. ' ' 

Mrs.  Maturin,  seizing  the  fortunate  moment  of  the 
spirit's  happier  state,  proceeded  to  reinforce  the  flesh. 
She  fixed  a  cup  of  tea  for  Barbara  and  made  her  eat 
and  drink. 

In  the  same  hour  Waring  was  calling  on  Dr.  Pen- 
fold.  He  had  gone  to  the  house  fearful  lest  he  should 
intrude  on  a  crisis  of  work,  but  to  his  surprise  had 
received  a  welcome  which  from  the  mathematician  was 
little  short  of  enthusiastic. 

"Come  into  the  study,"  Dr.  Penfold  said,  after  the 
first  greeting.  "I  should  like  to  have  a  little  talk  with 
you." 

Impressed  by  the  earnestness  of  his  host's  manner, 
he  followed  him  wonderingly  into  the  study,  filled  at 
this  hour  with  the  level  radiance  of  the  setting  sun. 

"Sit  down.  Will  you  smoke— no?  I  haven't  had  a 
chance  to  ask  you  about  your  summer,  we  have  been 
rushed  so." 

209 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

"A  month  in  the  mountains  and  two  months  in  New 
York." 

Dr.  Penfold  nodded.  One  thin,  delicately  modeled 
hand,  yellow  tinged  as  if  carved  in  ivory,  played  with 
the  papers  on  the  desk.  The  blue  eyes  were  unusually 
keen. 

4 'You  have  heard,  no  doubt,  of  our  summer.  Bar- 
bara's—Barbara's child  did  not  live." 

' 'Yes,  I  heard  and  was  very  sorry." 

"She  was  desperately  ill.  At  the  end  of  September 
I  took  her  to  the  shore.  She  seems  restored  now  to 
physical  health;  but  she  grieves  in  a  way  that  seems  to 
me  unnatural." 

Waring 's  eyes  grew  grave. 

"I  suppose  those  things  go  very  deep  with  women." 

"The  doctor  says  she  must  have  her  mind  diverted. 
I  assure  you,  Waring,  I  am  perfectly  inadequate  to  the 
task." 

He  smiled,  but  the  smile  was  anxious. 

"I  never  cared  for  society.  If  I  had  I  couldn't  have 
gone  into  it.  My  work  now  calls  for  every  particle  of 
time  and  strength  I  possess.  But  I  want  her  to  go  out 
— to  enjoy  herself— to  be  willing  to  go  without  me. 
That's  the  point— to  be  willing  to  go  without  me.  Last 
year  she  would  not.  Consequently  she  went  out  little. 
This  year  I  hope  she  will. ' ' 

Waring  listened  in  astonishment.  Never  before  had 
Dr.  Penfold  shown  such  earnest  attention  to  a  practical 
matter. 

"What  I  want  to  ask  you  is  this.  If  you  will  use 
your  influence  to  persuade  her  to  take  a  little  pleasure, 
to  put  off  that  black  gown  and  go  out.    Invitations  came 

210 


INTO   WAKING'S    CARE 

this  morning,  but  she  put  them  aside;  said  she  did  not 
care  to  accept  them. ' ' 

"Not  a  good  state  of  mind  for  any  one  as  young  as — 
Mrs.  Penfold,"  Waring  said.  "Indeed,  I  will  do  my 
best  to  change  it." 

"I  must  be  frank,"  said  Dr.  Penfold  naively.  "I 
am  not  altogether  disinterested  in  this.  I  can  work  bet- 
ter when  I  know  she  is  well  and  happy. ' ' 

"Naturally." 

"I  hear  the  front  door  opening.  Perhaps  that  is 
she  now." 

He  rose  and  went  to  the  head  of  the  stairs. 

' '  Barbara,  my  dear,  is  that  you  t ' ' 

Her  voice  in  answer  seemed  to  Waring  clear  and 
confident.  A  moment  later  she  entered  the  room,  hold- 
ing out  her  hand  in  the  frank,  friendly  way  which  al- 
ways delighted  him.  He  discovered  a  dawning  beauty  in 
her  clear,  intense  face.  If  she  had  suffered,  suffering 
had  given  to  her  features  a  new  charm.  Grief  disfigures 
age,  but  enhances  whatever  loveliness  youth  possesses. 

Waring,  the  influence  of  Dr.  Penfold 's  earnest  man- 
ner still  full  upon  him,  went  straight  to  the  point. 

"Did  you  receive  my  invitation  to  the  club  recep- 
tion?" 

"This  morning,"  Barbara  answered. 

"Would  you  do  me  the  great  favor  of  helping  us 
receive  ? ' ? 

Barbara  hesitated,  but  she  had  not  yet  emerged  from 
the  influence  of  Mrs.  Maturin  's  words. 

"You  should,  you  know,  because  it  is  a  reception  to 
the  junior  class— your  own  class. ' ' 

"I  will  come,"  she  said. 

211 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

Her  husband  looked  relieved. 

"We  are  getting  to  be  as  scheming  as  a  Tammany 
politician, ' '  Waring  laughed.  ' '  We  're  planning  a  series 
of  receptions,  and  the  staff  hopes  to  make  itself  so  fasci- 
nating that  each  guest  will  suddenly  turn  into  a  sub- 
scriber. ' ' 

"Do  we  subscribe,  Amos ?  " 

' '  I  think  not,  my  dear. ' ' 

She  laughed. 

"May  I  turn  into  a  subscriber?  I'll  get  the  money 
now. ' ' 

As  she  left  the  room,  Dr.  Penfold  said  to  Waring: 
1 '  I  haven 't  heard  her  laugh  like  that  this  fall.     Get  her 
interested  in  this  club  of  yours  if  you  can. ' ' 
-      "I'll  do  my  best." 

She  returned  with  the  money. 

"Now,  you  must  promise  to  read  the  articles  every 
month,"  Waring  said,  "and  tell  me  what  you  think  of 
them.  Dr.  Hunt  writes  in  the  October  number  on  'The 
Decline  of  Classical  Study.'  That  should  interest  you 
with  your  knowledge  of  Greek  and  Latin. ' ' 

He  spoke  half-jestingly,  but  his  eyes,  regarding  her, 
were  earnest. 

"Is  the  Emperor  still  an  editor?" 

"Very  much  so— writes  the  best  editorials,  to  my 
thinking." 

"A  very  clever  young  woman,  is  she  not?"  said 
Dr.  Penfold. 

' '  One  of  the  cleverest  I  ever  knew.  She  ought  to  be 
a  lawyer." 

"But  she  is  lovely,  too,"  Barbara  said,  with  the  tone 
of  the  champion. 

212 


INTO    WAKING'S    CARE 

1 '  She  has  too  great  a  sense  of  humor  to  take  her  clev- 
erness with  solemnity.  Let  me  show  you  an  editorial  of 
hers  on  this  year's  athletics.    It's  deliciously  witty." 

"If  you'll  excuse  me,"  Dr.  Penfold  said,  "I'll  go  to 
my  desk.    Barbara,  keep  Mr.  Waring  to  dinner." 

At  the  door  he  turned  round  and  looked  contentedly 
at  the  two  dark  heads  bent  over  the  magazine.  He  an- 
ticipated with  a  thrill  of  pleasure  an  hour's  work  un- 
troubled by  the  thought  of  his  wife's  isolation  and  sad- 
ness. He  was  genuinely  fond  of  Barbara,  and  wished 
to  see  her  happy. 


213 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

PERDITA. 

Perdita  Ravenel,  though  possessed  of  fascination  in 
any  environment,  was  at  the  height  of  her  charm  in  her 
own  drawing-room,  according  to  the  testimony  of  certain 
professors  and  post-graduates,  to  whom  she  symbolized 
an  oasis  in  the  desert  of  Hallworth.  One  enthusiast  un- 
blushingly  said  at  a  dinner  that  he  no  longer  aimed  for 
Columbia,  since  New  York  in  the  guise  of  a  lady  had 
come  to  Sparta.  The  girls  of  Stafford  Hall  imitated  her 
clothes,  and  some  of  them  cut  off  from  masculine  society 
enwreathed  her  with  romance. 

The  intricate  comedy  of  university  life  interested 
her  to  such  a  degree  that  few  points  of  it  escaped  her. 
From  the  loneliest  freshman  to  Dr.  Hunt,  no  one  was  out 
of  the  range  of  her  sympathy,  which  in  its  last  analysis 
was  perhaps  a  highly  sublimated  and  intellectual  curi- 
osity. Perdita  was  seldom  bored,  though  in  her  rare 
moments  of  boredom  she  knew  the  reason  for  crime. 
Ennui  and  wickedness  seemed  mutually  explanatory. 

On  this  October  afternoon  when  Barbara  and  War- 
ing were  bending  over  College  and  State,  she  sat  in  her 
drawing-room  with  Dutton,  a  non-committal  apartment, 
bare  of  pictures  and  books,  those  betrayers  of  personal- 
ity, but  rich  in  mirrors  of  quaint  design,  picked  up  on 
her  travels.  These  mirrors  reflected  her  peculiar  extrav- 
agance of  daily  living,  long  wax  candles  in  candlesticks 

214 


PERDITA 

of  odd  shapes.  For  the  rest,  the  furniture  was  not  too 
French  to  be  comfortable. 

She  was  leaning  back  in  a  long,  low  chair,  regarding 
Dutton  with  kind,  if  somewhat  amused,  eyes.  Of  all  the 
younger  men  in  the  University,  Dutton  and  Waring  in- 
terested her  most,  the  one  for  his  charming  simplicity 
and  noble  lack  of  ambition ;  the  other  for  his  complexity 
and  poetical  presence  of  ambition.  With  them  alone  to 
watch,  life  would  not  have  been  devoid  of  entertainment 
at  Hallworth.  Perdita,  as  a  rule,  kept  her  fund  of  seri- 
ousness for  the  performance  of  her  obligations  toward 
her  wards ;  her  lighter  moods  being  wholly  at  the  service 
of  her  friends.  To-night  some  wistfulness  in  Dutton 's 
face  inclined  her  to  give  him  a  chance  to  talk  seriously. 

"You  don't  look  quite  as  renewed  as  a  man  ought 
after  his  summer  vacation, '  •  she  said. 

"I  didn't  get  away  at  all.  I  taught  in  the  summer- 
school.  Then  I  worked  on  my  text-book  steadily  till 
term  opened." 

"Please  don't  tell  me  you're  writing  a  book,  too! 
I  thought  you  so  beautifully  exempt— in  the  midst  of 
these  book-writers.  I  made  a  canvass  in  June  for  my 
private  information/  Twenty-three  books  had  been 
written  during  the  year.  That's  not  counting  Professor 
Leonard's  History." 

"He  expects  to  get  the  third  volume  out  this  fall. 
I  only  wish  I  could  do  such  a  work.  Mine  is  merely  a 
text-book  for  the  use  of  schools,  and  a  publisher  still  to 
be  found!" 

"But  why  write  it  at  all?  It  can't  be  much  pleas- 
ure. ' ' 

"It  isn't.  But  if  you  don't  have  your  name  on  the 
215 


THE    LAW   OF   LIFE 

title-page  of  a  book  you  don't  rise."  Then  as  Perdita 
looked  sympathetic  he  added,  ' 'It  isn 't  the  teaching  they 
want  first  of  all.  They  ask  of  a  man  what  has  he  writ- 
ten, what  investigations  has  he  made,  is  he  specializing? 
And  if  so,  has  he  made  any  discoveries,  written  any- 
thing on  his  specialty?" 

"Ah,  I  see!"  Perdita  said.  She  had  seen  from  the 
first,  but  asked  questions  to  draw  Dutton  out,  an  enter- 
prise she  rarely  indulged  in  unless  she  knew  the  other 
person  would  respond  gladly. 

1 '  I  see.    You  want  to  push  on  further. ' ' 

1 '  Who  doesn  't ! "  Dutton  said  mournfully.  * '  Unless  a 
man  gets  a  professorship  in  a  university  he  can  scarcely 
live  decently,  much  less " 

He  drew  back  from  the  brink  of  his  words,  but  a 
delicate  flush,  tale-telling,  overspread  his  face.  Perdita 
smiled.  She  had  watched  Dutton  and  Allaire  for  some 
time. 

"Much  less  ever  make  a  home  for  himself,"  she  said. 
"Of  all  professions  a  professorship  is  the  most  under- 
paid." 

He  beamed  under  her  sympathy. 

"I  wish  you'd  write  an  article  on  that  for  College 
and  State." 

She  laughed. 

"I'm  afraid  I'd  say  too  much,  but  it's  a  good  idea. 
Ask  your  editor  to  write  it. "  * 

"Waring?  I  know  he'd  refuse  if  he  had  the  remot- 
est idea  you'd  do  it." 

"Well,  perhaps  I  will,"  Perdita  said.  She  was  won- 
dering in  what  way  to  assist  Dutton.  The  record  of  his 
patient,  industrious  life  begun  on  a  farm  not  many  miles 

216 


PERDITA 

from  Hallworth  had  once  been  told  her  without  embel- 
lishment by  Waring,  who  ceased  to  be  complex  when 
talking  of  a  friend.  Wire-pulling,  though  not  much  in- 
dulged in  at  Hallworth,  was  still  an  element  in  univer- 
sity life.  The  president,  the  trustees,  the  faculty  rep- 
resented power,  which,  at  the  service  of  the  University 
in  the  main,  might  be  diverted  for  the  benefit  of  the  in- 
dividual. Dr.  Hunt,  whose  eye  was  on  every  man,  had 
as  yet  made  no  extraordinary  discoveries  concerning 
Dutton;  and  promotion  was  largely  dependent  on  bril- 
liancy of  promise.  Moreover,  Dutton  had  not  all  the 
social  graces,  only  those  which  keep  a  man  more  or  less 
in  the  background.  He  had  neither  Waring 's  "trick  of 
rising,"  as  some  one  had  called  it,  nor  Waring 's  noncha- 
lance. His  essentially  democratic  spirit  was  more  closely 
allied  to  the  early  Hallworth  than  to  the  Hallworth  of 
the  present,  demanding  of  its  servants  not  only  pro- 
found scholarship  and  untiring  labor  but  much  savoir 
f  aire  in  the  world  of  their  choice. 

"You  say  you  have  yet  to  find  a  publisher.  I  know 
very  well  a  publisher  of  text-books  in  New  York,  an  old 
friend  of  my  father.  Would  you  like  me  to  give  you  a 
letter?" 

Dutton  hesitated. 

"No,  thank  you  very  much;  but  I'd  rather  it  would 
go  on  its  own  merits— poor  little  book!" 

"I  am  sure  its  merits  will  carry  it  far." 

Dutton  looked  pleased.  He  felt  that  even  this  polite 
prophecy  of  success  justified  him  in  calling  that  after- 
noon on  Allaire,  and  he  rose  to  take  his  leave. 

"You  are  coming  to  the  reception  of  the  junior 
class?" 

217 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

"The  editor-in-chief  has  been  kind  enough  to  ask  me 
to  receive." 

"And  you  will  write  the  article?" 
"Yes;  I  think  I  shall." 

After  he  had  gone  the  impulse  seized  her  to  take  the 
twilight  walk  so  much  in  vogue  at  Hallworth  during  the 
spring  and  fall.  Half  an  hour  later  found  her  at  one 
of  her  favorite  spots,  a  bridge  over  the  wide,  brawling 
stream,  which  farther  down  narrowed  and  deepened  be- 
tween the  walls  of  the  gorge.  From  one  of  its  timber 
supports  she  could  watch  the  sunset  redden  behind  the 
tall  black  pines.  The  rush  of  the  water  intensified  the 
enveloping  silence.  In  the  distance  some  crows  napped 
their  way  through  the  still  air  above  a  field  of  stacked 
corn.  Perdita,  for  the  moment  weary  of  a  university  and 
all  its  works,  wished  that  she  might  take  her  supper  with 
some  farmer  and  talk  cow  or  crops.  Then  she  fell  to  won- 
dering if  the  romance  of  the  bucolic  state  could  sur- 
vive a  winter  of  pork  and  pie.  The  sunset,  at  this  point, 
signalled  her  with  flame  of  crimson  and  scarlet  to  come 
back  to  the  ideal  world,  and  her  spirit  retreating  again 
into  the  hush  of  the  hour,  her  eyes  fixed  on  that  splen- 
dor of  the  west  became  dreamy,  wide  as  those  of  a  child. 

She  was  aroused  from  her  reverie  by  something  snif- 
fing at  the  hem  of  her  dress.  Looking  down  she  saw 
Melampus  of  the  bowed  legs,  his  disdainful  upper  lip 
revealing  two  sharp  little  teeth.  A  moment  later  his 
master  emerged  from  the  twilight. 

"I  was  hoping  you  were  not  far  behind.  I  like  Me- 
lampus, but  I'm  afraid  it's  a  case  of  unrequited  affec- 
tion." 

218 


PERDITA 

Dr.  Hunt  smiled. 

"It's  a  tradition  among  the  sophomores  that  Melam- 
pus  is  friendly  to  every  one  in  the  University  but  a 
freshman.  They  say  he  can  pick  out  a  freshman  in  a 
roomful. ' ' 

"Pretty  doggie!" 

"Don't  mock  him.  I  assure  you  he  understands 
Greek." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  have  a  habit  of  reading  aloud.  If  it's  a  Greek 
author,  Melampus  looks  the  picture  of  content;  but  if  I 
begin  Latin,  he  immediately  shows  unmistakable  signs 
of  distress,  and  scratches  at  the  study  door  to  be  let 
out." 

1 '  Are  you  serious ! ' ! 

"I  am,  indeed.  I  exhibited  him  to  a  roomful  the 
other  evening,  first  reading  from  Aristophanes,  then 
from  Lucretius.  When  I  began  'De  Rerum  Natura' 
Melampus  promptly  begged  to  be  excused." 

Perdita  laughed,  leaning  over  to  pat  the  stubborn, 
massive  head. 

"Don't  you  think  it  is  late  enough  for  you  to  turn 
back?"  Dr.  Hunt  said.  "These  country  roads  are 
lonely  after  nightfall." 

Perdita  rose,  inwardly  welcoming  the  prospect  of  a 
conversation.  If  she  were  skilful  she  might  bring  it 
around  to  young,  struggling  professors  in  general  and 
to  Dutton  in  particular.  As  it  was  obvious  to  the  whole 
University  that  Dutton  was  devoted  to  Allaire  Sordello, 
she  ran  no  risk  of  her  interest  in  him  being  misunder- 
stood. 

But  even  her  skill  could  not  guide  the  conversation, 
219 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

deflected  as  it  was  by  Dr.  Hunt 's  evident  preoccupation. 
She  abandoned  the  attempt  at  last  and  came  into  his 
atmosphere,  walking  beside  him  silently.  Her  silence  at 
last  acting  as  a  kind  of  challenge,  he  turned  to  her 
abruptly. 

' '  Has  any  one  told  ,you  of  the  proceedings  of  yester- 
day 's  Faculty  meeting?" 

"No;  I  have  heard  nothing  of  them." 

"They'll  be  generally  known  by  next  week.  I  have 
introduced  a  measure  which  I  think  I  can  push  through, 
though  there  is  a  strong  opposition." 

"I  hope  it  is  a  bill  for  raising  the  salaries  of  the 
professors,"  Perdita  said  lightly. 

1 '  On  the  contrary,  I  wish  to  raise  the  students '  fees ; 
to  make  the  terms  of  the  year  's  tuition  just  double. ' ' 

"Do  you  think  that  a  good  measure?"  Perdita  said 
daringly.  "Wouldn't  it  exclude  many  worthy  stu- 
dents?" 

' '  Undoubtedly.  But  it  should  do  away  with  that  ob- 
jectionable element  in  Hallworth,  student  labor.  The 
fees  now  are  low  enough  to  admit  of  a  boy's  working 
his  way  through  Hallworth,  and  doing  justice  neither  to 
the  furnace  he  tends  nor  to  his  Greek." 

Perdita  smiled. 

1  *  The  worst  waiters  we  have  at  the  Hall  are  students. 
The  girls  are  always  in  trepidation  lest  the  soup  should 
be  spilled  over  them." 

"And  surely  they  don't  make  the  better  scholars  for 
such  absent-mindedness, ' '  Dr.  Hunt  said. 

"But  in  the  early  days  of  the  University.it  was  bene- 
ficial. Didn't  Dr.  Penfold  work  his  way  through  Hall- 
worth?" 

220 


PERDITA 

"Dr.  Penfold,  yes.  But  he  is  a  brilliant  exception. 
If  education  had  cost  a  thousand  a  year  he  would  have 
procured  it.  It  was  in  him.  But  these  students  are  not, 
as  a  rule,  a  credit  to  the  University. ' ' 

• '  Do  you  not  believe,  then,  in  making  the  higher  edu- 
cation free?" 

"On  the  contrary,  I  think  it  ought  to  be  made  as 
costly  as  possible." 

"You  said  there  was  strong  opposition  in  the  Fac- 
ulty." 

"Yes,  a  strong  minority— but  fortunately  a  minor- 
ity." 

Perdita  was  wondering  on  which  side  Waring  stood — 
probably  with  the  opposition.  The  President  was  silent 
for  a  few  moments,  then  as  if  in  answer  to  her  thoughts 
he  said:  "Quixotic  youth  is  almost  as  dangerous  in  so- 
ciety as  a  dynamite  torpedo.  Richard  Waring  heads 
the  opposition." 

"  He  is  a  born  idealist. ' ' 

"And  much  too  brilliant  to  be  one.  That  magazine 
of  his— so  youthfully  clever— resembles  a  tourney  field." 

Perdita  laughed. 

"  It  is  harmless,  isn  't  it  1 " 

"It  might  be  if  its  editor  were  not  so  likeable.  He's 
a  favorite  with  the  students,  and  in  consequence  College 
and  State  is  so  much  gospel  to  them.  However,  it's  a 
very  creditable  production  to  issue  from  Hallworth.  I 
am  not  quarreling  with  it." 

"And  you  like  its  editor?" 

"Immensely.  I  should  never  wish  to  come  into 
serious  conflict  with  him  because  of  the  personal  equa- 
tion." 

221 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

They  had  reached  the  campus  by  this  time,  and  he 
conducted  her  to  the  entrance  of  Stafford  Hall,  refus- 
ing, however,  her  invitation  to  come  in  for  a  cup  of  tea. 
The  instinct  of  self-preservation  being  uppermost,  he 
was  already  wondering  why  he  had  talked  so  confiden- 
tially to  a  mere  woman. 


222 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A   RETURN  TO  YOUTH. 

On  the  night  of  the  reception  to  the  junior  class  the 
club-rooms  of  the  League,  as  yet  empty,  were  brilliant 
with  lights  and  flowers.  Mrs.  Maturin  had  contributed 
all  the  roses  in  her  greenhouses,  together  with  enough 
palms  to  stack  the  corners  and  render  the  cushions  shad- 
owy. The  girls  of  the  League,  flushed  and  triumphant, 
had  gone  home  to  dress. 

Waring  was  the  first  to  arrive. 

''It's  pretty  enough  for  a  wedding,"  he  said  aloud, 
as  he  stood  a  moment  pulling  off  his  gloves  and  looking 
about  him.  Then  some  afterthought  drew  his  hand  to  a 
package  in  an  inner  pocket.  He  pulled  out  the  proof  of 
an  article  for  the  December  number  of  College  and  State 
and  sat  down  to  glance  oyer  it.  After  a  few  moments  he 
rose  and  went  into  the  office.  He  had  thought  it  de- 
serted, but  Frederick  Clyde,  now  a  senior,  sat  by  the 
table,  in  a  circle  cast  by  a  green-shaded  electric  light. 
His  attitude  was  dejected,  and  he  seemed  unaware  of 
Waring 's  entrance,  until  the  latter  laid  a  hand  lightly 
on  his  shoulder. 

4 'If  you're  coming  to-night,  it's  time  to  go  and  dress, 
else  you  will  have  to  leave  by  way  of  the  window." 

"I  don't  feel  very  much  like  it,  to  tell  the  truth. 
If  Eliz— if  Miss  King  weren't  coming  I  shouldn't 
bother." 

15  223 


THE    LAW    OF    LIFE 

' '  What 's  the  matter  ?    Are  you  tired  ? ' ' 

"No-blue." 

"Blue?"  said  Waring  gaily.  "The  president  of  the 
senior  class,  and  engaged  to  the  prettiest  girl  in  Hall- 
worth,  come,  come,  Clyde,  what's  the  matter?" 

"Just  this.  If  they  raise  the  fees  at  Hallworth  my 
post-graduate  course  in  electrical  engineering  is  out  of 
the  question.  That  means  business  instead  of  a  profes- 
sion—and—long waiting." 

Waring  knew  for  what,  but  his  sympathy  for  Clyde 
was  tempered  by  his  deep-rooted  prejudice  against  stu- 
dent engagements. 

He  looked  at  him  keenly. 

"How  did  you  hear  of  this  new  measure?" 

"Your  Faculty  meetings  are  not  so  private  as  you 
members  think.  It  has  leaked  out,  anyway.  If  it 
should  go  through  Dr.  Hunt  would  be  mobbed." 

"If  it  should  go  through  Dr.  Hunt  would  probably 
disperse  the  mob  with  a  quotation  from  Horace.  If  you 
promise  to  hold  your  tongue,  Clyde,  I  will  tell  you  that  I 
am  in  full  battle  array  at  the  head  of  the  opposition. ' ' 

"I  thought  you'd  be  human." 

"Read  this." 
■    He  placed  the  proof  before  him.     Clyde  read  the 
title,  "The  Cost  of  Tuition  and  Its  Influence  on  College 
Life." 

' '  You  're  not  taking  up  the  cudgels ? ' ' 

"Not  at  all.  It  has  purely  a  general  application. 
Should  the  measure  go  through,  it  would  then  be  time 
enough  to  make  war  openly." 

Clyde  glanced  down  the  article. 

"Where  did  you  get  all  these  figures?" 
224 


A    RETURN    TO    YOUTH 

"I  sent  for  the  registers  of  all  the  prominent  col- 
leges and  universities." 

' '  Good  work !  Do  stand  by  us.  It 's  all  very  well  for 
the  rich  men,  but  we  men  whose  fathers  are  on  sal- 
ary  " 

"I  don't  think  Hunt  will  push  it— but  keep  quiet 
about  it,  Clyde.    Now  off  with  you.    It's  after  eight," 

Barbara  had  dressed  for  the  reception  in  the  gown 
the  Emperor  planned  for  her  the  year  before.  She  put 
it  on  with  some  compunctions,  remembering  the  little 
dead  child  dear  to  her  alone.  Yet  when  Mehitabel,  hov- 
ering about  her,  had  fastened  the  last  hook  and  turned 
her  to  the  mirror,  she  felt  a  sudden  lightening  of  the 
spirit. 

"That's  right,  smile  a  little,"  the  good  woman  said. 
Ever  since  the  birth  and  Barbara's  grave  illness  she  had 
felt  a  peculiar  tenderness  for  her  mistress.  Her  delight 
was  great  when  Mrs.  Pen  fold  announced  her  intention 
of  going  to  the  reception. 

■  *  Do  you  want  them  roses  in  your  hair ! ' ' 

' '  I  think  not.    I  'm  too  gay  as  it  is. ' ' 

"They'd  look  real  pretty;  just  let  me  try  'em." 

"Not  to-night,  Mehitabel.  Have  you  my  gloves  and 
cloak  ?    Bring  them  to  the  study. ' ' 

Her  husband  was  bending  over  his  desk,  in  the  ever- 
lasting attitude  of  work.  To  what  end?  to  what  end? 
she  sometimes  thought,  smothered  by  the  intensity  of  his 
application.  The  scholarship  of  her  uncle  had  had  its 
poetical  aspects— her  husband's  seemed  purely  abstract. 

He  raised  his  head  and  his  eyes  brightened.  He  no- 
ticed her  dress— glad  of  what  it  represented— a  more 

225 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

cheerful  mood  in  her,  and  freedom  to  pursue  his  work 
untroubled  by  certain  responsibilities  to  which  he  felt 
himself  unequal/ 

"You  look  well,  my  dear.  I  hope  you  will  have  a 
good  time. ' ' 

"I  wish  you  were  going  too,"  she  said  wistfully. 

"A  mathematician  has  no  business  in  society.  But 
you'll  make  me  happy  if  you  go  and  enjoy  yourself. 
Accept  your  invitations  as  they  come.  They  all  know 
me  here  for  a  recluse;  but  they  would  be  defrauded 
should  you  turn  into  one." 

It  was  the  first  gallant  speech  he  had  ever  attempted, 
and  the  effort  of  it  brought  the  color  to  his  face.  Bar- 
bara's smile  of  pleasure  rewarded  him.  She  leaned  over 
and  kissed  him. 

"I  shall  miss  you  very  much.  Mehitabel  is  going 
out  to-night,  but  should  you  want  a  glass  of  milk,  there 
is  one  ready  in  the  pantry  and  a  box  of  biscuits  by  it. ' ' 

' '  Thank  you,  my  dear. ' ! 

As  the  front  door  closed  on  her  he  turned  contentedly 
to  his  work.  It  was  certainly  more  comforting  to  be 
cared  for  by  a  wife  than  by  a  servant. 

Perdita  Ravenel,  gowned  in  black  chiffon,  which 
threw  into  relief  the  whiteness  of  her  neck  and  shoulders, 
and  wearing  for  her  only  ornament  an  old-fashioned 
necklace  of  topazes,  was  talking  with  Waring  between 
greetings.  She  possessed  for  him  a  distinctly  intellec- 
tual charm,  heightened  and  supplemented  by  her  pecu- 
liar, unclassified  beauty.  He  sometimes  wondered  why 
he  was  not  in  love  with  her.  That  he  was  not  seemed 
to  him  the  loss  of  an  enriching  experience. 

226 


A  RETURN  TO  YOUTH 

"I  hear  you  are  leading  the  opposition  in  our  House 
of  Hallworth?" 

' '  In  the  matter  of  the  tuition  fees  ?  Yes.  I  am 
afraid  we  shall  not  win  out.  ■ ' 

"You  are  plucky  to  array  yourself  against  the  Presi- 
dent and  his  majority." 

"  It 's  not  a  case  of  pluck  exactly.  I  am  trying  to  de- 
fend what  seems  to  me  one  of  the  essential  ideals  of  Hall- 
worth.  ' ' 

She  smiled. 

"But  you  can't  expect  a  university  to  stand  still. 
What  was  good  for  Hallworth  in  its  extreme  youth 
might  not  be  good  for  it  now. ' ' 

"But  this  exclusive  policy  will  exclude  the  very 
students  the  University  needs— those  of  the  middle 
class." 

She  made  no  answer,  but  the  expression  of, her  eyes 
involved  him  suddenly  in  a  mesh  of  youth.  He  turned  to 
the  Emperor,  who  stood  near  him,  an  embodied  magnet 
for  students. 

"Is  the  President  coming?" 

"I  think  he  is  if  he  obeys  my  instructions." 

"What  audacious  thing  have  you  been  saying  to 
him?" 

"Nothing  audacious.  I  met  him  on  the  campus,  and 
told  him  I  could  vouch  for  the  coffee  to-night;  you 
know  he  adores  strong  coffee  with  thick  cream  in  it. ' ' 

Waring  laughed. 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"He  said  that  coffee  was  the  one  factor  of  the  mod- 
ern world  which  kept  him  from  wishing  that  he  had  lived 
in  the  days  of  Pericles. ' ' 

227 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

At  that  moment  Barbara  entered.  Waring  had 
watched  the  door  closely,  conscious  that  he  would  be 
keenly  disappointed  should  she  fail  him  at  the  last  mo- 
ment. Since  his  conversation  with  Dr.  Penfold  a  cer- 
tain restraint  had  been  taken  from  him.  He  could  show 
his  friendliness  unreservedly.  Her  husband  wished  it, 
desired  it.  He  was  at  liberty  to  respond  to  the  appeal 
which  she  had  always  made  to  certain  elements  of  his 
nature.  As  he  greeted  her  he  thought  she  looked  un- 
usually well,  if  not  beautiful,  distinguished.  He  was 
realizing  through  her  that  the  monotony  of  mere  pretti- 
ness  was  due  less  to  a  community  of  pink  and  white  than 
to  the  fact  that  the  owners  of  the  pink  and  white  thought 
and  felt  and  acted  with  the  blind  imitation  of  sheep. 
Barbara  had  not  danced  with  the  rest,  gossiped  with  the 
rest,  tried  on  ribbons  with  the  rest,  and  the  difference 
was  in  her  face. 

' '  I  was  afraid  you  weren  't  coming. ' ' 
' '  I  had  promised  you. ' ' 
"I  shall  always  bind  you  with  a  promise." 
Perdita  was  looking  at  Barbara  with  sincere  admira- 
tion in  her  eyes.    She  too  was  keenly  appreciative  of  un- 
usual types  of  women. 

1 '  I  am  so  glad  you  are  here  to-night. ' ' 
1  'Thank  you.    It  is  my  class,  you  know." 
"Ah,  yes.    You  would  have  been  a  junior." 
Barbara,  shaking  hands  with  the  young  men  and 
girls  as  they  came  in,  recognized  many  of  her  former 
classmates,  and  was  glad  that  she  could  call  some  of  them 
by  name  without  an  introduction.    It  seemed  to  her  now 
that  she  had  been  living  in  a  dream  during  her  fresh- 
man year,  and  she  was  eager  to  make  amends  for  what- 

228 


A   RETURN    TO    YOUTH 

ever  sins  of  omission  she  had  committed  when  dreaming. 
She  envied  these  former  classmates,  still  young  and  care- 
free.   To  herself  she  seemed  a  thousand  years  old. 

Among  those  who  shook  hands  with  her  was  a  gal- 
lant young  junior  wearing  his  youth  and  his  enjoyment 
of  the  occasion  like  a  flower  in  his  coat.  Barbara  rec- 
ognized the  Boy  of  her  first  social  appearance  at  Hall- 
worth,  the  heroic  freshman  who  from  a  deep  sense  of 
duty  had  asked  her  if  he  could  take  her  in  to  supper. 

' ' You  do  not  recognize  me?" 

He  blushed,  but  plunged  into  gallantry,  still  disci- 
plining his  shy  self  to  meet  the  occasion. 

"Do  you  remember  the  Dean's  reception  in  your 
freshman  year  I  I  was  there,  a  classmate,  and  you  asked 
if  you  could  take  me  in  to  supper.  We  were  neither  of 
us  quite  happy ;  then  some  one  came  along  and  offered  to 
take  charge  of  me  instead." 

A  light  broke  over  his  face. 

"Oh.  I  do  remember— but— but  you  are  not  in  our 
class  now?" 

"No.    I  am  Mrs.  Penfold." 

The  astonishment  in  his  eyes  when  he  identified  her 
with  the  black-gowned  girl  of  that  year  did  not  escape 
her.  She  wondered  whether  she  had  changed  greatly; 
or  was  it  the  gown ! 

"I  missed  the  pleasure  once.  May  I  take  you  into 
supper  to-night?" 

"Indeed,  yes." 

She  was  glad  that  he  wanted  to  take  her  in;  that 
she  was  not  altogether  removed  from  these  her  mates  by 
the  fact  of  her  marriage.  Despite  her  youth  she  was  be- 
ginning to  class  herself  unconsciously  with  those  who 

229 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

have  lived  and  suffered.  Life  represented  to  her  at  this 
period  all  the  experiences  which  come  after  marriage. 
She  had  yet  to  learn  that  the  spirit  can  annul  experience. 

The  rooms  had  become  crowded.  The  majority  of 
the  guests  were  students,  but  two  or  three  members  of 
the  Faculty  looked  in  for  a  moment,  not  staying  long 
enough  to  show  that  they  took  the  League  too  seriously. 
After  a  while  the  President  came  in,  and  greeted  the 
receiving  women  with  a  certain  elaborate  courtesy  which 
in  Perdita's  mind  linked  him  to  an  earlier  generation. 
She  sometimes  wondered  if  it  were  an  embroidered  cloak 
for  a  deep-rooted  scorn  of  the  sex. 

He  shook  hands  warmly  with  Waring.  To  his  cold 
and  critical  temper  the  youthful  idealism  of  this  man 
pleased  him  by  very  force  of  contrast,  pleased  and 
amused  him. 

After  the  first  greeting  he  said  abruptly : 

"Are  you  going  to  carry  your  campaign  into  your 
magazine  ? ' ' 

Waring  blushed  like  a  schoolgirl.  Then  he  walked 
desperately  into  the  truth. 

"I  have  written  an  article  on  the  cost  of  tuition  and 
its  effect  on  college  life— it  has  only  a  general  applica- 
tion." 

' '  May  I  ask  a  favor  of  you  ?    May  I  glance  over  it  ? " 

"Certainly,  Dr.  Hunt.  If  you  will  step  into  the  of- 
fice you  will  be  undisturbed." 

He  led  the  way  to  the  den  and  ensconced  the  great 
man  in  the  editorial  chair.  The  President  looked  about 
the  bare,  littered  office  with  some  amusement— at  the 
desks  heaped  with  papers,  at  the  ink-blots  on  the  uncar- 
peted  floor— at  the  letter-files. 

230 


A   RETURN    TO   YOUTH 

"This  is  certainly  not  amateurish,"  he  said. 

' '  We  saved  the  frills  for  the  other  rooms. ' ' 

"A  student  is  the  most  pampered  creature  on  earth. 
It  wasn't  so  in  my  day.  We  had  more  Greek  and  less 
luxury.  Ah,  this  is  already  in  proof— the  December 
number  ? ' ' 

"The  December  number." 

1 '  Don 't  let  me  detain  you. ' ' 

"You  aren't  detaining  me— I  will  run  over  this 
file." 

For  ten  minutes  there  was  deep  silence.  Then  the 
President  laid  down  the  proof. 

' '  I  congratulate  you, ' '  he  said  dryly, ' '  however  I  dis- 
agree with  the  premises.  Shall  we  return  to  the  recep- 
tion ?     A  post-graduate  has  promised  me  a  cup  of  coffee. ' ' 

He  was  thinking  that  Waring 's  cleverness  might 
some  day  need  a  check,  but  as  yet  the  rein  could  be  held 
loosely,  for  the  sake  of  the  audacious  merit  of  the  maga- 
zine. College  and  State  had  already  obtained  an  inter- 
collegiate reputation— was  indeed  a  somewhat  conspicu- 
ous feather  in  the  cap  of  Hallworth. 

"You  must  be  tired;  may  I  take  you  in  to  supper?" 

"Thank  you,  but  one  of  the  juniors  has  already 
asked  me. ' ' 

Waring  was  distinctly  conscious  of  being  disap- 
pointed. He  had  hoped  for  a  little  talk  with  Barbara. 
Incidentally  he  wished  to  ask  her  to  remind  Dr.  Pen- 
fold  of  the  next  Faculty  meeting,  and  to  secure  her  in- 
terest in  the  tuition-fee  measure. 

"May  I  ask  if  I  may  see  you  home  when  you  are 
ready  to  go?" 

231 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

"Thank  you,  yes." 

He  watched  her  go  away  on  the  arm  of  the  young 
junior,  and  found  himself  thinking  what  an  interesting 
task  it  would  be  to  turn  the  Madonna  into  a  woman  of 
the  world;  no  longer  dreaming  but  doing.  He  had  al- 
ways been  aware  of  the  possibilities  underlying  Bar- 
bara '&  immaturity ;  but  the  temptation  to  appeal  to  them 
had  ceased  with  her  marriage— to  Waring 's  mind  the 
very  seal  of  her  arrested  development. 

The  Emperor  had  gone  in  with  the  President,  and 
Waring,  the  sense  of  duty  strong  upon  him,  looked  about 
for'  an  unappropriated  girl.  Finding  none,  and  con- 
science being  satisfied,  he  went  to  the  supper-room. 
Mrs.  Maturin  was  sitting  by  Barbara,  and  he  joined 
them. 

"I  have  just  been  telling  Mrs.  Penfold  that  I  will 
not  let  her  off  from  my  dinner  on  the  tenth. ' ' 

"But  Dr.  Penfold  will  not  dine  out  this  winter," 
Barbara  said  simply.  "And  I  should  not  go  to  dinners 
without  him,  should  I?" 

1  ■  Every  one  regrets  that  Dr.  Penfold 's  work  does  not 
allow  him  more  freedom,"  Mrs.  Maturin  said.  "But 
since  every  one  understands  that  it  is  so,  the  usual  rule 
does  not  apply  in  your  case— does  it,  Mr.  Waring?" 

"I  think  it  quite  imperative  that  Mrs.  Penfold 
should  not  desert  us." 

"Then  you  will  come,"  Mrs.  Maturin  said,  with  gen- 
tle insistence.  Barbara  looked  from  one  to  the  other 
of  them.  Both  represented  a  certain  social  authority. 
What  they  told  her  she  could  believe.  But  something 
deeper,  more  vital  than  their  word  was  influencing  her 
decision— a  desire  to  forget  for  a  while,  as  this  evening 

232 


A  RETURN  TO  YOUTH 

she  had  forgotten,  the  bewilderment  and  intermittent 
pain  of  her  life  since  her  marriage,  a  desire  strengthened 
by  the  realization  that  her  husband  could  do  his  work 
better  if  she  at  least  seemed  amused  and  cheerful.  For 
the  first  time  in  her  short  existence  the  obligation  to 
play  a  part  was  presented  to  her.  His  look  of  content  as 
she  left  him  had  taught  her  much.  If  she  could  not 
give  him  positive  aid  in  his  work,  as  she  had  once 
dreamed,  she  might  aid  him  in  this  negative  way— by  not 
being  on  his  mind.  She  looked  into  Waring 's  face  and 
their  eyes  met. 

' '  I  will  come, ' '  she  said,  then  remembering,  turned  to 
Mrs.  Maturin. 

' '  Have  I  made  it  clear  to  you ! ' '  Waring  said.  ' '  You 
see  just  why  I  want  Dr.  Penfold  on  our  side." 

She  had  been  listening  eagerly,  as  they  walked  up  the 
hill  together  after  the  reception,  to  his  account  of  the 
new  measure  and  what  it  stood  for.  Her  sympathies, 
aroused  by  her  contact  that  evening  with  her  old  class, 
made  her  peculiarly  responsive.  Waring,  feeling  this 
newly  awakened  interest  in  the  student  life  of  Hall- 
worth,  took  instant  advantage  of  it  by  citing  those  among 
the  juniors  who  would  suffer  by  the  change.  Through 
Barbara  he  could  thus  reach  her  husband. 

As  they  parted  he  said  to  her : 

"You  will  remind  Dr.  Penfold,  will  you  not,  at  the 
first  opportunity,  of  the  coming  Faculty  meeting,  and 
explain  what  is  up  for  discussion  1  We  can 't  do  without 
his  vote." 

"I  will  do  all  in  my  power  to  help  you,"  she  said 
eagerly. 

233 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

She  went  into  the  house  more  content  than  she  had 
been  for  months. 

It  was  good  to  be  asked  to  perform  some  definite 
service. 


234 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

THE  IMPORTANCE  OP  BEING  WORLDLY. 

"Must  I  have  another  dress?" 

"But,  Barbara,  if  you  are  going  out  this  winter 
you'll  have  to  have  two  or  three  more." 

' '  I  did  not  know  they  were  so  worldly  at  Hallworth ! ' ' 

"There  is  only  one  unworldly  community  that  I 
know  of,"  said  the  Emperor,  "and  that  isn't  in  this 
world." 

She  vouchsafed  no  further  information  as  to  its 
whereabouts.    Barbara  smiled. 

"You  are  good  to  help  me  with  these  matters.  In- 
deed, I  am  grateful." 

"There  is  a  certain  piquancy  in  planning  your 
worldly  garments,  and  I  am  depending  on  them  to  keep 
you  with  us  a  little  longer. ' ' 

Barbara  blushed,  as  one  detected  in  cowardice. 

' '  What  do  you  mean ! ' ' 

"When  I  returned  this  fall  you  seemed  ready  to 
slip  out  of  life.  That  is  not  good.  You  are  too  old  to 
die.    I  want  you  to  be  young  first. ' ' 

They  planned  dresses  until  the  twilight  closed  in 
upon  them.  The  Emperor  felt  for  Barbara  the  one 
strong  and  unselfish  affection  of  her  university  life.  Un- 
derstanding her  temperament,  she  yet  never  intruded 
her  comprehension.  Conscious  now  of  a  crisis,  her  chief 
desire  was  to  aid  in  tiding  her  friend  over  it.     She  was 

235      « 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

fearful  lest  Barbara,  feeling  herself  at  a  disadvantage  in 
the  social  life  of  Hallworth,  should  withdraw  from  it. 
With  feminine  wit  she  sought,  therefore,  to  reinforce  the 
shrinking  spirit  through  the  medium  of  assured  and 
worldly  gowns. 

On  the  night  of  the  dinner  Barbara  dressed  with  the 
strange  sensation  of  being  launched  into  a  world  whose 
laws  she  would  have  to  discover  for  herself.  Her  hus- 
band's knowledge  of  society  was  chiefly  negative,  as  was 
her  own.  By  breeding,  by  instinct,  she  knew  what  not 
to  do.  The  tremendous  task  was  to  learn  the  positive 
social  graces.  She  dreamed  over  this  new  problem,  as  in 
her  childhood  she  had  dreamed  over  the  mystical  mean- 
ing of  Virgil. 

When  she  looked  in  the  mirror  for  a  last  survey  of 
the  new  gown  she  began  to  understand  the  aid  it  should 
lend,  when  she  had  made  it  all  her  own.  As  yet  it  was 
something  that  the  Emperor  had  put  on  her. 

Her  husband  entered  the  room. 

1 'Mr.  Waring  has  kindly  called  for  you,  Barbara.' ■ 

"Did  you  tell  him  why  you  couldn't  go  to  the  Fac- 
ulty meeting?" 

"Yes;  and  I  told  him  also  that  he  could  have  my 
vote.  So  many  were  absent  last  Friday  that  they  took 
no  vote." 

"So  you  are  still " 

"  I  'm  still  an  effective  unit. ' ' 

Barbara  hesitated. 

1 '  Did  you  tell  him  that  I  explained  it  to  you  1 ' ' 

Dr.  Penfold  smiled. 

"You've  forgotten  your  husband  once  carried  the 
hod.    Such  experiences  make  one  a  socialist." 

236 


THE   IMPORTANCE   OF  BEING   WORLDLY 

She  reached  for  her  cloak,  and  he  folded  it  about 
her. 

"Enjoy  yourself.  I  cannot  tell  you,  my  dear,  how 
glad  I  am  to  have  some  one  represent  me  socially  at 
Ilallworth.  For  many  years  I  seemed  churiish,  hidden 
behind  my  work." 

"But  I  can't  represent  you  as  I  should.  I  am  not 
brilliant." 

' '  Brilliant  women  are  rather  tiring,  are  they  not,  my 
dear?" 

"That  is  comforting  but  not  true,  I'm  afraid,"  she 
answered  with  a  smile. 

Waring,  escorting  a  hooded  and  cloaked  Barbara 
to  the  dinner,  was  unaware  what  manner  of  princess 
might  appear  in  the  drawing-room.  She  entered  with  a 
certain  dignity  born  of  her  husband's  last  words,  which 
had  lifted  a  weight  of  self-consciousness  from  her.  Rep- 
resenting him  she  could  forget  herself.  Waring  looked 
at  her  with  the  admiration  which  implies  wonder.  He 
could  scarcely  believe  her  responsible  for  the  lovely 
gown  she  wore,  at  once  subtle  and  simple;  but  his  mas- 
culine mind  accepted  it,  and  her,  gratefully  without  fur- 
ther speculation. 

After  she  had  greeted  her  hostess  he  found  a  seat 
for  her.  Her  possibilities  had  never  seemed  so  apparent 
to  him,  and  he  felt  a  keen  pleasure  in  the  fact  that  she 
had  been  given  into  his  keeping;  that  to  look  out  for 
her  had  become,  by  her  husband's  own  wish,  an  obliga- 
tion. 

She  thought  of  her  first  appearance  in  that  beautiful 
room,  a  shy  freshman  in  a  childish  gown.  For  the  first 
time  since  her  marriage  the  realization  of  her  social  po- 

237 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

sition  and  its  prerogatives  swept  over  her,  appealed  to 
her  latent  femininity,  as  something  which  might  be- 
come a  source  of  enjoyment.  She  put  the  thought  away 
from  her,  however,  as  holding  a  meretricious  element. 
Such  enjoyment  seemed  scarcely  compatible  with  sincer- 
ity of  life. 

The  scene,  with  its  profusion  of  flowers  and  lights, 
was  a  pretty  one.  The  women  of  the  dinner-giving  set 
were  nearly  all  present.  Since  her  guest  of  honor  was 
the  President,  Mrs.  Maturin,  putting  her  own  prefer- 
ences aside,  had  invited  those  whom  she  knew  he  liked, 
the  good  talkers  among  the  men,  the  good  listeners 
among  the  women,  with  irrepressible  Mrs.  Joyce  to  sup- 
ply the  element  of  audacity,  without  which  the  function 
might  become  hopelessly  well-bred. 

"You  love  beautiful  things,"  Waring  said.  He  had 
watched  Barbara's  eyes  soften  and  deepen  as  she  gazed 
about  the  room. 

"Yes,"  she  answered;  then  as  his  unspoken  sym- 
pathy always  brought  the  truth  to  her  lips,  she  added: 
1 '  But  I  should  not  want  to  live  in  a  house  like  this. ' ! 

"Why  not?" 

"I  should  love  it  too  much— I  should  forget  other 
things." 

1 '  Isn  't  that  the  medieval  fear  of  beauty  ? ' ' 

1 '  I  should  fear  anything  I  loved  too  much, ' '  she  said, 
half  under  her  breath. 

He  smiled. 

1 1  Do  you  know  how  to  dance  ? "  he  asked  abruptly. 

"No.    I  never  had  the  chance  to  learn." 

"You  must  ask  Miss  Dare  or  Miss  King  to  teach  you. 
They  both  dance  well.     Then  you  can  go  to  the  balls. 

238 


THE   IMPORTANCE  OF  BEING   WORLDLY 

All  the  Faculty  Wife  does.    You  will  give  me  the  pleas- 
ure of  taking  you  to  the  First  Assembly?" 

"Perhaps,  I  am  not  sure,"  Barbara  said  frankly. 
She  had  the  feeling  she  might  lose  her  identity  should 
she  plunge  too  deeply  into  this  rosy  sea  of  pleasure. 

Waring  was  amused  at  her  sincerity,  yet  piqued  and 
challenged  by  it.  When  would  she  learn  to  play  the 
woman's  part?  The  poise  of  her  head,  the  clear  glance 
of  her  eyes  reminded  him  of  a  gallant  boy.  Even  her 
marriage  had  not  imprisoned  her  in  her  sex. 

Mrs.  Joyce  approached  them. 

"I  am  envying  you,  Mrs.  Penfold.  Mr.  Waring  is 
to  take  you  in.  Now  I've  lost  my  last  chance  to  quarrel 
with  him  until  the  next  philanthropist  gives  a  dinner ! ' ' 

"Can  you  only  quarrel  with  him  at  dinner?" 

"  It  is  the  only  occasion  on  which  he  can 't  get  away.  ■ ' 

"Mrs.  Joyce  is  so  sure  of  my  devotion  that  she 
mocks  me  thus.    She  knows  I  'm  her  obedient  slave. ' ' 

Mrs,  Joyce  turned  to  Barbara. 

"Never  believe  that  a  university  man  is  your  obedi- 
ent slave.  He  is  the  slave  of  his  specialty.  I  know  if 
Herbert  lost  me  he'd  bear  up.  He  could  get  another 
wife— but  his  library! " 

"We  are  adamant  against  such  heresy!" 

1 '  Do  you  hear  that  ?  It  means  nothing.  Mr.  Waring 
when  a  freshman  gave  promise  of  something  more  than 
a  literary  devotion  to  romance.  I  can  see  him  yet — 
a " 

"Oh,  please  spare  me  the  picture  of  my  cub  period." 

Barbara  was  conscious  of  resentment  against  this  as- 
sured little  lady,  who  assumed  so  much  knowledge  of  a 
period  closed  to  her. 

16  239 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

"I  was  a  freshman  once/'  she  said.  ''We  none  of 
us  like  to  be  told  of  our  crudities." 

"I  hope  I  did  not  imply  that  Mr.  Waring  was 
crude. ' ' 

The  words  brought  the  color  to  Barbara's  cheek  like 
the  cut  of  a  lash.  She  realized  that  she  had  destroyed 
an  airy  fabric  of  before-dinner  nothings  with  a  clumsy 
serious  speech. 

Mrs.  Joyce  turned  to  Waring. 

"I  congratulate  you  on  having  a  champion,"  she 
said,  laughing.  "Mrs.  Penfold  does  not  realize  what  old 
friends  we  are." 

Her  confidential  tone  shut  her  in  with  Waring  as  if 
she  had  closed  a  door  suddenly  against  Barbara's  face. 
The  child  in  Barbara  winked  back  its  unseen  tears,  the 
woman  in  her  rose  to  meet  his  kind,  apologetic  glance. 
She  should  not  at  least  again  commit  the  crime  of  being 
serious. 

"Mr.  Waring  has  so  many  friends,"  she  said,  "it  is 
difficult  to  remember  the  different  periods  to  which  they 
belong."  Then  with  a  slightly  satirical  accent  she 
added,  ' '  That  I  belong  to  a  recent  period  is  because  I  was 
a  freshman  myself  year  before  last." 

Mrs.  Joyce  did  not  like  to  be  reminded  of  her  senior- 
ity, but  she  smiled.  She  had  no  time  for  the  fitting  reply 
which  contrary  to  rule  did  not  come  readily  on  this  oc- 
casion. Professor  Cartwright  had  approached  to  take 
her  in.  Leaving  them  she  cast  an  amused  glance  at 
Waring,  to  which  he  did  not  respond.  She  bit  her  lip 
with  vexation,  wondering  what  he  saw  in  Mrs.  Penfold, 
who  seemed  to  take  life  as  seriously  as  some  resur- 
rected Puritan. 

240 


THE   IMPORTANCE   OF   BEING   WORLDLY 

As  Waring  gave  his  arm  to  Barbara  he  said: 
"Friendship  is  not  measured  by  duration  of  time.  I 
hope  I  may  call  you  an  old  friend." 

The  tones  of  his  voice  vivified  the  platitude.  She 
looked  up  at  him  gratefully,  for  she  was  telling  herself 
that  she  had  been  both  rude  and  clumsy.  The  glamor 
of  the  scerfe  had  suddenly  faded,  as  a  magician's  struc- 
ture at  the  crack  of  a  whip.  These  well-dressed  people, 
with  their  suave,  misleading  manners,  could  hurt  you, 
if  you  were  not  on  guard.  Disillusionment,  letting  her 
down  to  a  more  normal  plane,  lent  her  a  certain  indif- 
ference to  the  entire  affair.  She  could  drill  herself 
to  be  as  cool  as  they  were. 

During  the  dinner  Waring  felt  the  change  in  her,  and 
welcomed  it  as  bringing  her  nearer  to  him.  Barbara  had 
always  seemed  a  little  exalted  for  every-day  comfort,  see- 
ing things  as  she  would  like  them  rather  than  as  they 
were.  He  wanted  her  to  be  enough  of  this  world,  to  hold 
her  own  with  such  women  as  Mrs.  Joyce,  of  whose  airy 
manner  and  string  of  nothings  he  was  suddenly  con- 
temptuous. She  had  had  no  business,  he  thought,  to 
take  Mrs.  Penfold  down  so,  and  he  found  comfort  in 
saying  "cat"  to  himself. 

Barbara's  vision  was  now  sufficiently  cleared  to  see  a 
little  behind  the  scenes  at  this  dinner-party.  If  Mrs. 
Joyce,  whom  she  had  always  thought  so  spontaneously 
charming  and  friendly,  could  betray  undreamed-of 
traits,  the  others  might  not  be  at  all  what  they  seemed, 
talking  so  politely  together,  as  if  the  long  wreaths  of  vio- 
lets and  Bon  Silene  roses  encircling  the  table  were  but  a 
symbol  of  their  woven  affections.  Her  destructive  criti- 
cism stopped  short  at  Mrs.  Maturin  and  Waring.     Of 

241 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

their  essential  kindness  and  goodness  of  heart  she  felt 
sure. 

Her  self-possession  drew  a  certain  amount  of  atten- 
tion and  interest  to  her  during  the  dinner.  Answering 
with  some  hesitation  at  first,  she  gained  courage  as  the 
dinner  progressed,  becoming  conscious  after  a  time  that 
Waring  was  doing  all  he  could  in  a  perfectly  quiet  way 
to  draw  her  out,  and  support  everything  she  said  with 
his  sympathy.  She  found  herself  relying  on  him,  al- 
most childishly  confident  because  he  was  at  her  side— 
and  understood.  He  could  guide  the  most  bewildered 
remark  to  its  goal. 

The  President  was,  as  usual,  enjoying  the  conversa- 
tion and  the  perfectly  cooked  food  with  impartiality, 
and  saying  little,  even  to  Perdita,  his  right-hand  neigh- 
bor; but  suddenly  he  leaned  forward  and  said  gravely, 
though  not  without  a  gleam  of  humor  in  his  keen  eyes : 

■  'Mrs.  Penfold,  what  do  you  think  of  the  cost  of  the 
higher  education?  Should  it  be  low  or  high,  inclusive 
or  prohibitive?" 

Waring  turned  slightly  to  Barbara,  fearful  lest  she 
should  venture  her  opinion  among  these  experts.  But 
the  value  of  the  negative  was  beginning  to  dawn  on 
her. 

"I  do  not  think  I  am  qualified  to  have  an  opinion." 

' '  But  offhand  what  should  you  say  ? ' ' 

"I  should  think  your  point  of  view  would  be  largely 
determined  by  your  pocketbook,"  she  answered  lightly. 

The  President  laughed.  Mrs.  Joyce  diverted  his  at- 
tention. 

"Won't  you  ask  for  our  views  on  professors'  sal- 
aries?" 

242 


THE   IMPORTANCE   OF   BEING   WORLDLY 

"Madame,  the  aim  of  my  life  is  to  forget  the  tragi- 
cal." 

Barbara  turned  to  Waring. 

"Should  I  have  taken  the  President  seriously?"  she 
said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"No,  you  did  exactly  right,"  he  answered.  "It  was 
a  challenge.    He  cannot  abide  women  with  opinions." 

"It  was  a  trap,  then?" 

' '  He  was  testing  you,  I  think. ' ' 

Their  community  of  understanding  surrounded  her 
now  like  a  shield.  She  was  glad  she  had  not  disap- 
pointed Waring  in  answering  the  President.  She  wished 
to  show  him  that  she  could  learn  quickly,  that  any  pains 
he  took  with  her  social  education  would  be  rewarded. 
This  game  called  society  was  beginning  to  interest  her. 
She  said  to  herself  she  would  learn  to  dance,  learn  to 
do  as  the  others  did— and  then  be  unlike  them.  The 
egotism  of  solitary  living  was  still  strong  upon  her,  and 
in  the  act  of  parting  from  some  ideals  of  childhood  she 
assured  herself  that  being  so  wholly  hers  she  could  call 
them  back  at  will. 


243 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

"your  soul  was  dancing.' ' 

Barbara  took  her  new  pleasures,  if  not  sadly,  at  least 
with  a  certain  sense  of  duty.  Left  again  with  no  do- 
mestic* interest,  save  the  obligation  of  companionship  in 
the  rare  intervals  of  her  husband 's  leisure,  circumstances 
seemed  forcing  her  more  and  more  into  the  social  life  of 
Hallworth.  The  blunder  of  her  marriage  was  as  yet 
too  imperfectly  understood  by  her  to  admit  of  her  facing 
it  without  fear.  Nor  could  the  full  significance  of  mar- 
riage itself  appear  to  a  nature  in  which  the  primitive 
emotion  was  still  dormant.  Barbara,  to  escape  her  con- 
fusions and  to  please  her  husbandv  gave  her  energies  to 
society  in  the  spirit  of  the  learner. 

True  to  Dr.  Penf old's  prophecy,  Hallworth  accepted 
his  wife's  solitary  participation  in  its  social  life  as  a 
matter  of  course.  To  the  Faculty  circle  the  learned 
mathematician  had  never  ceased  to  be  a  bachelor  recluse. 
That  a  lady  bearing  his  name  should  be  seen  at  dinners 
and  receptions  was  a  fact  perhaps  whimsical  in  its  ori- 
gins, but  once  accepted  troubled  no  one  further.  Besides 
Barbara's  was  not  an  isolated  case,  learned  husbands  at 
Hallworth  being  notoriously  averse  to  following  too 
closely  the  social  round.  It  was  on  record  that  the  one 
faint  gleam  of  humor  which  had  ever  crossed  Mrs. 
Leonard's  plaintive  mind  was  when  she  threatened  to 
name  the  "History  of  Russia"  as  co-respondent  in  di- 
vorce proceedings  against  her  husband. 

244 


"YOUR    SOUL    WAS    DANCING" 

Waring  found  himself  becoming  deeply  interested 
in  Barbara's  social  success,  in  watching  the  slow  unfold- 
ing, leaf  by  leaf,  of  the  white  rose  of  her  character.  He 
had  to  admit  she  was  not  brilliant  in  the  sense  of  always 
being  gracefully  ready  like  Perdita  with  a  clever  or 
witty  remark.  But  she  had  the  distinction  lent  by  dif- 
ference. Her  face,  despite  the  experiences  of  the  past 
two  years,  still  recalled  an  unusual  childhood.  Waring 
thrilled  with  pleasure  when  any  one  said  a  word  in 
praise  of  her.  He  did  not  know  how  much  he  longed 
that  she  should  be  appreciated. 

His  looking  out  for  Mrs.  Penfold  provoked  no  criti- 
cism. Waring 's  gallantry  was  well  known  as  belonging 
to  the  general  order.  The  courtesy  of  his  manners  held 
almost  a  foreign  flavor.  Some  of  the  men  in  the  Uni- 
versity did  not  dare  to  be  chivalrous  lest  they  should  be 
misunderstood.  Waring  never  made  excursions  into  the 
land  of  chivalry.  He  dwelt  there  the  year  round.  Life 
was  gray  at  best.  To  create  purple  and  gold  was  en- 
tirely legitimate  provided  one  never  forgot  the  hard 
granite  underneath.  He  sometimes  longed  for  romance 
with  all  the  hopelessness  of  a  keen,  nonchalant  mind 
doomed  inevitably  to  see  through  emotions,  even  when 
in  the  grip  of  them.  At  the  task  of  falling  in  love  he 
had  worked  harder  and  more  conscientiously  than  most 
men,  but  had  never  succeeded  in  reaching  the  marriage 
notch.  The  romance  of  his  senior  year  had  come  to 
nothing,  because  he  wondered  in  spite  of  himself  if  the 
girl  would  eventually  grow  fat  like  her  dowager  mother, 
chaperoning  them  both  at  a  dance,  and  looking  in  her 
green  velvet  like  a  newly  upholstered  armchair. 

The  kind  of  knight-errantry  which  attendance  upon 
245 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

Barbara  called  for  exactly  suited  Waring,  in  whose  na- 
ture medieval  elements  were  not  lacking.  Aside  from 
the  satisfaction  of  the  dramatic  instinct,  his  friendship 
for  her  was  genuine— so  far  the  most  real  of  his  many 
friendships  with  women. 

She  herself  began  by  thinking  that  she  must  be  a 
burden  to  him,  his  responsibility  being  greater  than  if 
she  were  experienced,  knowing  thoroughly  well  how  to 
play  her  own  part.  She  was  sometimes  conscious,  as  at 
Mrs.  Maturin 's  dinner,  that  he  played  his  and  hers,  too, 
to  save  her  what  he  could.  The  desire  to  stand  as  much 
as  possible  on  her  own  feet,  to  get  rid  of  miserable  shy- 
ness, of  self -consciousness  and  other  burdens  of  the  sen- 
sitive novice  led  her  to  work  as  hard  as  she  used  to 
over  her  Greek.  Mrs.  Maturin,  the  Emperor,  and  those 
who  were  friendly  enough  to  her  to  take  particular  no- 
tice of  her,  saw  that  she  was  never  once  relaxed  at  these 
social  functions.  Her  very  self-possession  seemed  less 
the  result  of  her  being  at  ease  than  of  her  being  at  atten- 
tion. The  Emperor  sometimes  wondered  when,  the  pre- 
liminary martyrdom  over,  Barbara  would  begin  to  enjoy 
herself.  Having  watched  her  through  her  freshman 
year,  she  realized  more  keenly  than  Mrs.  Maturin  that  a 
nature  essentially  solitary  was  making  an  heroic  effort  to 
be  social.  That  the  process  actually  caused  suffering 
she  did  not  doubt. 

Barbara  had  come  to  her  and  asked  to  be  taught  to 
dance.  She  willingly  took  her  in  hand,  though  fearing 
it  might  be  a  difficult  process.  In  this  she  was  disap- 
pointed. Her  pupil's  sense  of  rhythm  and  sensitiveness 
to  music  she  found  were  keen.  Every  day  in  the  gloam- 
ing hour  Elizabeth  pounded  out  waltzes  and  two-steps 

246 


"YOUR    SOUL    WAS    DANCING" 

on  the  gymnasium  piano,  while  the  Emperor  guided  Bar- 
bara around  and  around  the  room.  Sometimes  Mrs.  Pen- 
fold  remained  to  supper  afterward,  taking  more  pleasure 
and  interest  in  the  Hall  surroundings  than  she  ever  had 
done  in  her  freshman  days. 

By  the  time  of  the  First  Assembly  Barbara  was 
willing  to  accept  the  Emperor's  verdict  that  she  danced 
well  enough  to  appear  on  the  floor.  The  latter  had 
planned  her  a  little  dancing-gown  of  rose-colored  chiffon 
trimmed  with  tiny  rosebuds.  Barbara  sighed  over  it 
when  she  saw  it,  but  a  moment  afterward  she  put  away 
the  thought,  with  some  other  thoughts  and  emotions  now 
out  of  service— her  desire  to  help  her  husband,  the  ideal 
of  her  little  child,  her  homesickness  for  a  ghostly,  van- 
ished home. 

She  tried  to  induce  her  husband  to  go  the  ball,  but 
he  was  sweetly  and  mildly  stubborn. 

1  'My  dear,  I  dislike  music.  I  dislike  disjointed  con- 
versation. I  am  afraid  of  draughts.  Salads  and  ices 
do  not  agree  with  me.  But  your  youth  will  protect  you. 
Go  and  enjoy  yourself. ' ' 

■ '  I  wish  I  were  a  mathematician, ' '  Barbara  answered. 
1 '  Then  I  'd  stay  home  and  work  with  you. '  \ 

Her  husband  patted  her  cheek. 

''You  are  better  off  dancing."  He  had  been  too  glad 
of  her  interest  these  weeks  in  the  social  life  of  Hall- 
worth  to  wish  her  back  as  a  negative  factor  in  his  house. 

The  Assembly  was  held  in  the  Armory.  The  most 
formal  of  the  Faculty  social  functions,  it  brought  to- 
gether not  only  the  Faculty  but  eligible  townsfolk,  visi- 
tors from  other  places,  and  lastly  favored  students,  with 

247 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

perhaps  the  senior  class  president  and  some  picked  men 
from  the  exclusive  fraternities.  The  decorations  were 
always  in  the  University  colors,  carried  out  in  flowers 
and  bunting,  but  in  consideration  of  complexions  the 
colored  lights  were  yellow. 

Into  this  world  of  white  and  green  Waring  ushered 
Barbara,  looking  young  in  her  pink  gown  with  pink  rib- 
bons in  her  dark  hair,  holding  in  place  some  rosebuds. 

1 '  Here  is  your  dance-card. ' ' 

"My  first"  dance-card!" 

She  turned  the  pretty  trifle  about  in  her  hands,  then 
read  over  the  names. 

"Must  I  dance  with  all  these  men?" 

"I  am  afraid  you  must.  I  have  put  myself  down  for 
four  waltzes.  I  did  not  dare  take  more,  lest  I  should  be 
accused  of  selfishness." 

' '  I  should  have  absolved  you, ' '  she  said. 

She  was  learning  to  speak  their  speech,  light  as 
thistle-down,  meaning  nothing.  She  sometimes  won- 
dered what  they  did  say  when  they  were  really  in  ear- 
nest. 

They  passed  the  line  of  receiving  women,  among 
whom  was  Perdita. 

"I  wonder  why  Miss  Ravenel  never  married,"  Bar- 
bara said. 

1 '  She  is  too  many  women  to  marry  one  man, ' '  Waring 
replied.  "Ah,  there  is  Miss  Dare.  She  and  I  have  been 
at  swords-point  since  the  tuition  measure  went  through. 
I  want  to  fight  openly  for  its  repeal;  she,  woman-like, 
would  be  diplomatic." 

"Are  the  students  much  aroused  over  it?" 

"There  is  a  great  deal  of  unorganized  grumbling." 
248 


' ' YOUR    SOUL    WAS    DANCING" 

"Are  you  talking  shop  to  Mrs.  Penfold?"  the  Em- 
peror said,  approaching  them,  her  eyes  scornful. 
"Please  don't.  She  must  really  enjoy  herself  to-night— 
not  pretend  to." 

"I  am  tired  of  your  imperial  ways.  You  must  waltz 
with  me.    Your  card,  please. ' ' 

He  reached  for  her  card,  and  she  gave  it  to  him  un- 
smiling.   He  wrote  his  name  in  three  places. 

The  music  of  a  Strauss  waltz,  luring,  dreamy,  sug- 
gestive of  waving,  beautiful  lines,  stole  through  the  ball- 
room. Waring  turned  to  Barbara  for  this  his  first  waltz 
with  her.  To  dance  with  a  saint,  an  idealist,  how  much 
more  piquant— should  she  prove  a  good  dancer!— than 
with  fluff  and  feathers.  In  another  moment  they  were 
upon  the  floor.  The  passivity,  the  yielding  to  direction, 
which  was  so  much  her  mood  when  with  Waring,  stood 
her  in  good  service  now.  The  music  called  at  her  ears 
like  a  soul  in  eager  bliss.  She  wished  that  it  might  go 
on  forever.  Of  his  close  presence  she  was  scarcely  aware. 
Once  he  whispered,  "You  are  not  tired?" 

"Ah,  no." 

It  came  to  an  end  at  last,  and  she  was  back  in  reality ; 
but  this  time  a  reality  of  lights  and  flowers.  Youth  itself 
swept  toward  her  like  the  scent  of  May  blossoms  on 
spring  winds.  She  lifted  an  eager,  happy  face  to  War- 
ing's. 

"Do  I  do  well?" 

He  caught  his  breath,  with  sudden  rapture  of  her 
childlike  trust.  He  weighed  his  words  lest  "dear" 
should  be  among  them. 

"You  did  perfectly.  I  think  your  soul  was  danc- 
ing." 

249 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

Her  eyes  opened  wide  with  delight. 

"I  think  so  too.     I  am  so  glad  I  learned!     What 

if "  her  face  fell.     "What  if  I  had  never  known 

what  I  missed— now  if  I  should  never  dance  again  I 
should  at  least  know." 

' '  May  I  put  down  my  name  again  1 ' ' 

"Indeed,  yes." 

"And  again?" 

"Indeed,  yes." 

"Six  times— six  waltzes.  Here  is  some  one  to  claim 
you  for  the  two-step." 

Barbara  transferred  herself  reluctantly.  This  new 
man  looked  shy  and  haughty,  and  in  her  own  happy 
mood  shyness  was  incomprehensible.  All  the  world 
danced  in  rose-light. 

The  practical  two-step  music  sounded  harsh  after  the 
waltz.  Her  partner  clutching  her  gave  her  the  sensation 
of  being  dragged  by  a  desperate  man.  But  if  desperate 
he  was  also  heroic.  He  did  not  relinquish  his  hold  on 
her  until  the  music  ceased.  Then  he  dropped  her  into 
the  nearest  chair,  said  "Thanks"  and  disappeared. 
Barbara,  breathless,  was  wondering  at  his  abrupt  leave 
of  her,  when  he  returned  with  lemonade.  He  watched 
her  drink  it,  saying  not  a  word,  then  took  the  glass  and 
was  off  again. 

She  was  smiling  over  this  pantomime  when  Dutton 
came  for  the  next  dance.  He  was  still  roseate  from  the 
pleasure  of  a  waltz  with  Allaire. 

"I'm  so  glad  you're  dancing,  Mrs.  Penfold!  It's 
a  pleasure  to  us  all." 

"Can  you  tell  me  who  my  partner  was?" 

"Oh,  that  was  Jenks,  the  biggest  Grecian  in  the 
250 


"YOUR    SOUL    WAS    DANCING" 

senior  class.  Last  year  he  took  Phi  Beta  Kappa,  and 
he's  back  for  a  doctorate,  but  he  can't  dance.  I  guess 
you  found  that  out. ' ' 

1 '  I  thought  it  was  myself,  perhaps. ' ' 

"No,  indeed.  Jenks  is  noted  for  his  bad  dancing. 
I  don't  know  why  Richard  let  him  get  on  your  card  ex- 
cept that  he  belongs  to  his  fraternity.  This  is  our 
waltz." 

Dutton  was  a  conscientious  dancer;  but  he  came  not 
at  all  under  the  spell  of  the  music,  and  Barbara  herself 
remained  outside  of  it.  She  was  impatient  for  her  next 
dance  with  Waring. 

When  the  waltz  was  finished  Dutton  led  her  to  a 
group  of  women,  which  included  Perdita  and  Allaire. 
Allaire  took  her  hand. 

■ ■  You  are  getting  very  pretty, ' '  she  said,  in  her  quiet, 
audacious  way.  "I  think  you're  beginning  to  like  Hall- 
worth.  ' ' 

"I  know  I  like  to  dance— and  I've  just  begun.  Think 
of  the  arrears  to  make  up ! " 

"You  dance  as  if  you  liked  it,"  Perdita  said.  She 
had  been  watching  Barbara  and  Waring,  and  thinking 
that  they  danced  as  gracefully  together  as  two  lovers. 

The  evening  ended  with  another  waltz.  Then  they 
went  out  under  the  stars.  Barbara  was  dreamily  happy, 
too  happy  even  to  know  why.  For  once  she  asked  her- 
self no  questions. 


251 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

DR.   PENFOLD  RISES  TO  THE  OCCASION. 

Barbara  and  her  husband  were  seated  at  the  break- 
fast-table, in  the  cheeriness  of  winter  morning  sunshine. 
Dr.  Penfold,  who  like  all  healthy  persons  felt  his  bright- 
est and  best  in  the  early  hours,  was  munching  toast  and 
enjoying  the  aroma  of  his  coffee.  A  wood  fire  made 
pleasant  sounds  on  the  hearth.  Barbara  felt  that  the 
time  was  propitious  to  broach  the  subject  on  her  mind. 

Since  the  Assembly  a  month  had  elapsed;  to  her,  a 
novice,  the  gayest  month  she  had  ever  known ;  a  confused 
medley  of  flowers,  music,  tea-cups,  chiffon,  dance-favors 
and  small-talk,  in  which  the  fact  of  her  enjoyment  of  it 
all  alone  stood  out  distinctly.  Her  first  dance  had  served 
as  a  key  to  open  an  unsuspected  chamber  of  her  spirit, 
in  whose  warmth  and  cheer  she  could  forget  certain 
lonely  perspectives.  Her  sudden  abandonment  to  pleas- 
ure had  surprised  even  Waring.  Yet  he  was  thankful. 
It  not  only  became  her,  but  was  a  delicate  tribute  to  his 
good  offices. 

"Amos,  did  you  ever  give  a  dinner?  A  large  one,  I 
mean. ' ' 

"Never,  my  dear." 

"Would  you  mind  if  I  gave  one?  We  are  in  debt  to 
a  good  many  people." 

Her  husband  considered  her  question. 

"My  dear,"  he  said  anxiously,  "do  you  think  Me- 
hitabel  would  be  willing?" 

252 


DR.   PENFOLD   RISES   TO   THE   OCCASION 

"I  am  quite  sure  she  wouldn't,"  Barbara  said,  smil- 
ing. ' '  But  couldn  't  we  have  a  caterer  1  She  'd  be  amen- 
able if  she  thought  we  had  the  caterer  to  help  her.  He 
could  bring  one  experienced  waiter." 

Dr.  Penfold  knit  his  brows.  He  saw  not  one  waiter 
but  a  whole  procession  invading  the  scholastic  quiet  of 
his  house.  He  had  reached  the  stage  of  distrust  and 
doubt  which  made  the  locking  up  of  the  family  spoons 
imperative  when  Barbara  came  to  his  relief. 

"It  needn't  be  a  dinner,  but  it  ought  to  be  some- 
thing." 

' '  Must  it  be  something,  my  dear  ? ' ' 

"I  am  afraid  so.  You  see,  you  can't  go  about  with- 
out doing  something  for  people  in  return." 

"That's  true,"  Dr.  Penfold  said,  the  dismal  logic  of 
the  statement  gripping  him.  Retributive  ghosts  stood 
at  his  elbow.  For  his  own  peace  of  mind  he  had  delib- 
erately thrust  Barbara  into  the  social  life  of  Hallworth, 
and  now  she  was  returning  to  him  with  a  multitude  at 
her  heels.  He  was  of  a  hospitable  nature  provided  his 
guests  did  not  come  in  droves,  and  would  remember  al- 
ways that  by  the  iron  law  of  necessity  he  was  a  mathe- 
matician before  he  was  a  host. 

A  sudden  inspiration  seized  him.  A  dinner  to  his  un- 
enlightened mind  implied  a  maximum  of  trouble  to  a 
minimum  of  cancelled  obligations.  Why  not  do  it  all  up 
at  once,  have  a  perfect  holocaust  of  guests  at  one  fell 
reception  ? 

"My  dear,"  he  said,  "why  not  give  a  reception?" 

"But  the  house  is  too  small." 

The  argument  seemed  unanswerable.  Dr.  Penfold 
handed  his  cup  across  the  table,  looking  apologetic. 

253 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

"We  might  build  an  extension.  My  dear,  if  we  had 
one  dinner,  would  it  bring  forth  another?" 

"lam  afraid  so,  \  ■  Barbara  said  truthfully.  * 1 1  could 
only  have  ten  guests  at  a  time,  and  I  am  in  debt  to  a 
good  many. ' ' 

"But  dinners  are  expensive,  are  they  not?  One  must 
offer  good  wines.  The  President  told  me  he  was  nearly 
poisoned  by  the  McDonalds'  sherry." 

She  blushed. 

"Amos,  dear,  you  know  I  want  always  to  use  my  own 
money  for— for  things  like  this." 

"But  that  isn't  fair." 

"But  if  I  wish  it?"  she  said,  smiling. 

Dr.  Penfold  stirred  his  coffee  thoughtfully. 

"The  Joyces  have  had  receptions  and  their  house  is 
smaller  than  ours. '  ■ 

He  pondered  for  a  moment  and  then  made  a  desper- 
ate plunge. 

"Why  not  have  three  receptions,  my  dear?— be  at 
home  on  three  different  dates?" 

The  idea  of  the  dinners  was  dying  hard  in  Barbara. 
With  the  enthusiasm  of  the  novice  she  was  fired  with  am- 
bition to  play  the  role  of  hostess  in  its  most  difficult 
form. 

"You  mean  divide  it  up.  Even  then  it  would  be 
crowded. ' f. 

Dr.  Penfold  hesitated,  then  like  a  man  intoxicated 
with  self-denial  took  the  last  plunge. 

"The  study  is  the  largest  room  in  the  house.  The 
men  could  smoke  there." 

Barbara  clapped  her  hands. 

"You'd  really  give  me  the  study?" 
254 


DR.   PENFOLD   RISES   TO  THE   OCCASION 

"Yes.  I  could  lock  up  my  papers.  You  could  even 
have  a  table  or  two  for  whist." 

The  proposition  was  taking  on  magic  tints.  The  Em- 
peror would  help  her  with  a  cosy  corner  in  the  hall.  By 
this  time  the  little  drawing-room  had  already  stretched 
several  feet.  The  guests  were  still  crowded,  but  she 
would  give  them  good  things  to  eat.  Her  short  experi- 
ence in  Hallworth  society  had  taught  her  that  there  was 
nothing  like  delicious  coffee  and  irreproachable  salads 
to  soothe  the  outraged  feelings  of  guests,  after  half  an 
hour  of  stepping  on  and  being  stepped  on. 

M  Very  well,  then.    We'll  be  at  home  in  January.' ' 

"Yes,  as  soon  as  possible.  I  have  been  keeping  my 
publishers  at  bay  for  the  last  six  weeks  as  it  is." 

A  week  later  the  University  received  cards,  inform- 
ing it  that  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Penfold  would  be  at  home  on 
certain  evenings  in  January.  When  it  recovered  from 
its  astonishment,  it  said  that  it  certainly  must  have  been 
a  love-match  after  all. 

Barbara,  having  sent  her  invitations,  was  seized  with 
stage-fright,  plagued  with  spectral  "what-ifs."  In 
despair  she  sent  word  to  Waring  and  the  Emperor  to 
come  together  to  her  the  first  evening  they  could  spare. 
Both  having  luck,  they  came  that  same  night. 

"Why  this  mad  summons?"  the  Emperor  said,  as 
Barbara  greeted  her.  "Mr.  Wearing  and  I  are  feverish 
with  anxiety.  I  assure  you  that  to  come  he  left  off  writ- 
ing an  editorial  which  may  lose  him  his  place  at  the  Uni- 
versity. ' ' 

"I  am  glad  I  sent  for  him,  then.     It  is  just  this, 
my  dear  friends,  I  have  rashly  become  a  hostess." 
17  255 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

"I  see  you  have,"  Waring  said,  "and  we're  dying 
to  be  guests." 

"And  now  I  am  frightened,  and  I  want  you  both  to 
promise  me  solemnly  you'll  come  to  all  three  functions 
and  help  me  saye  the  day." 

The  Emperor  thought  her  jesting,  but  Waring 's  in- 
tuitions, sharpened  by  his  growing  friendship  with  her, 
read  real  anxiety  in  her  eyes.  That  she  should  send  for 
him,  appeal  to  him,  touched  a  deeper  chord  of  feeling 
than  he  should  have  liked  to  admit  to  himself. 

"You  know,  Barbara,  we  belong  to  the  Order  of 
Friendship,  each  of  us,  though  we  don 't  tell  every  one, ' ' 
the  Emperor  said.  "Of  course  we'll  come  and  perform 
any  tricks  you'd  like." 

"It's  the  beforehand  tricks  that  worry  me." 

"I  see,"  Waring  said.  "You  want  to  plan  decora- 
tions; food  for  clamoring  guests— all  the  little  engaging 
details." 

"Let's  begin  with  the  drawing-room,"  the  Emperor 
said. 

"Of  course  I  would  change  nothing  here,"  Barbara 
answered  quickly.  ' '  I  should  only  put  flowers  about  and 
shaded  candles." 

Waring  smiled.  Barbara's  almost  reverential  desire 
for  the  preservation  of  her  husband's  stiff  little  house  in 
its  original  bachelor  state  pleased  him,  yet  seemed  to 
him  a  revelation  of  the  essential  duality  of  the  union. 

"What  color?" 

"Red  for  the  first  evening?" 

"Wicked  red  or  good  red?"  said  the  Emperor. 
"Jacques  or  American  Beauties?" 

256 


DR.  PENFOLD   RISES   TO  THE   OCCASION 

"I  couldn't  afford  American  Beauties.  Are  Jacques 
wicked  red?" 

"Not  exactly  wicked— but  they're  not  ready  to  be 
canonized,  like  some  white  roses  you  see." 

Waring  laughed. 

"You  have  a  bizarre  mind,  my  Emperor." 

"I  am  not  your  Emperor.  Don't  be  impertinent  be- 
cause I  write  better  editorials  than  you  do." 

Barbara  rose  and  shut  the  parlor  door. 

"I'm  afraid  our  talking  may  disturb  Dr.  Penfold." 

"Now  about  things  to  eat,"  Waring  said.  "Please 
don't  have  lobster  salad  unless  you  can  get  fresh  lob- 
sters. I  assure  you  the  whole  chemistry  department  was 
poisoned  one  year  at  Mrs.  Leonard's,  though  people  did 
say  Leonard  put  something  evil  in  the  salad  dressing, 
he  was  so  cross  because  his  wife  had  company. ' ' 

"  No ;  I  shall  have  chicken  salad. ' ' 

They  squabbled  amiably  over  the  ices,  but  arrived  at 
last  in  a  paradise  of  perfect  arrangements,  and  having 
persuaded  Barbara  that  she  might  make  a  passable  host- 
ess, as  high  an  ambition  as  she  dared  aspire  to,  they  left 
her  with  the  promise  of  another  session  before  the  first 
event  came  off. 


257 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE  REVELATION  OF  PAIN. 

On  the  night  of  Barbara's  reception  Waring  went 
first  to  call  on  the  President  in  response  to  a  note  re- 
questing him  to  do  so.  He  knew  why  Dr.  Hunt  wished 
to  see  him.  Ever  since  the  adoption  of  the  measure 
doubling  the  tuition  fees  he  had  with  deliberate  and 
perfectly  conscious  recklessness  published  editorials  in 
College  and  State  setting  forth  the  unwisdom  of  the  act, 
and  predicting  its  eventual  repeal.  That  the  students 
would  take  these  editorials  seriously  he  was  sure.  Their 
interests  were  at  stake.  On  their  united  strength  he 
counted  to  win  eventually. 

The  servant  ushered  him  into  Dr.  Hunt's  library. 
The  President  was  dressing,  he  said,  but  would  be  down 
in  a  few  moments".  Waring  settled  himself  in  an  arm- 
chair, glad  of  an  opportunity  to  look  about  this  grave 
room,  its  air  haunted  with  ghosts  of  innumerable  fine 
cigars,  and  perfumed  delicately  by  the  bindings  of  the 
Doctor's  favorite  classics.  A  Horace  lay  among  the 
papers  on  the  desk,  its  dull  green  leather  powdered 
all  over  with  gold  dust.  The  book-plate  bore  the  Presi- 
dent's coat-of-arms.  Waring  smiled  over  this  stately 
vanity. 

He  rose  to  examine  some  shelves  of  books,  picking  up 
a  bronze  candelabrum  for  better  light  from  the  tall  wax 
candles.  In  the  semi-obscurity  he  stumbled  over  a  huge 
mastiff,  which  rose  with  an  amiable  yap  of  apology. 

258 


THE   REVELATION    OF   PAIN 

The  Doctor's  Aldines  were  famous.  He  was  exam- 
ining one  when  the  President  entered. 

He  smiled  with  engaging  frankness  when  he  saw  what 
was  in  Waring 's  hand. 

"Now  you  know  why  I  never  married.  I  could  not 
afford  a  wife  and  rare  editions  too. ' ' 

"Why  marry?"  Waring  said  lightly,  himself  intoxi- 
cated for  the  moment  with  rarity.  "Here  is  embodied 
romance.  This  is  dainty  enough  to  have  come  from  the 
boudoir  of  one  of  Titian 's  women. ' ' 

"I'm  afraid  they  didn't  read  Greek,  those  golden 
ladies ;  but  it  does  have  the  odor  of  the  Renascence.  Will 
you  smoke?" 

"Thank  you,  no.  I  am  going  on  to  Mrs.  Penf old's 
reception. ' ' 

The  President  settled  himself  comfortably  by  the  fire 
and  puffed  away  in  silence  for  a  few  moments.  Then 
he  said :  ' '  Mr.  Waring,*  your  editorials  on  the  tuition 
question  have  interested  me  greatly,  but  I  am  afraid  you 
are  fighting  for  a  lost  cause.  Why  not  devote  the  space 
to  other  matters  more  hopeful  1 ' ' 

His  intonation  was  dry,  satirical,  but  not  unkindly. 

"  I  do  not  consider  it  a  lost  cause,  Dr.  Hunt.  I 
still  hope  that  the  measure  will  be  reconsidered  and  an- 
nulled or  modified." 

"It  will  not  be." 

His  voice,  final,  cool,  indifferent,  made  Waring  sud- 
denly conscious  of  being  young.  He  rose  and  leaned  one 
arm  on  the  mantelpiece,  looking  down  into  the  fire  with 
troubled,  boyish  eyes.  The  President,  watching  him, 
thought  he  was  almost  too  handsome  and  too  full  of  vi- 
tality to  be  formed  into  a  college  professor.    He  was  not 

259 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

at  all  sure  that  this  man  might  not  eventually  find  Hall- 
worth  a  deep  but  narrow  cup  for  his  ambitions.  Mean- 
while they  could  effervesce  in  College  and  State.  War- 
ing's  boldness  in  opposing  him  pleased  Dr.  Hunt,  who 
had  a  savage  hatred  of  sycophancy;  but  he  wished  the 
younger  man  to  understand  from  the  first  that  such  op- 
position  was  hopeless.  Understanding  this  thoroughly, 
he  was  at  liberty  to  tilt  as  much  as  he  wished  in  his 
clever 'magazine. 

1 '  I  think,  sir,  you  can  hardly  say  of  any  measure  that 
it  is  final.  The  personal  equation  might  be  withdrawn. 
The  University  endowment  fund  might  swell  to  such  a 
degree  that  it  could  afford  to  pay  students  for  learning.,, 

* '  God  forbid !  The  coaxing  system  is  already  too  well 
developed.  Can't  you  see,  my  dear  fellow,  that  the 
cheapness  of  education  is  responsible  for  half  the  raw- 
ness in  the  American  character  f  I  could  name  as  perfect 
examples  two  or  three  politicians,  graduates  of  bastard 
colleges,  specious,  clever,  unreasonable  men — of  no  cul- 
ture and — of  no  principle." 

"But  Hallworth  is  of  legitimate  birth.  We  are  as 
solid  as  Harvard  in  principles  of  scholarship." 

1 '  Yes ;  and  we  shall  be  more  solid  the  higher  we  value 
our  services." 

' '  That  is  not  a  democratic  ideal, ' '  Waring  said. 

"Democracy  is  driving  this  country  into  imperialism. 
England  is  more  democratic  this  hour  than  we  are.  We 
need  the  corrective  of  aristocratic  standards— under- 
stand me,  not  plutocratic." 

"Your  aristocrat  is  often  poor.  He  finds  the  great 
university  closed  to  him  on  that  account;  must  go  to  a 
bastard  college  or  not  at  all.    Is  that  right?" 

260 


THE    REVELATION    OF    PAIN 

Dr.  Hunt  smiled,  fingering  the  ears  of  the  mastiff  by 
his  knee.  "For  one  aristocrat  we  exclude  ten  of  our 
American  idol,  the  People." 

"Have  they  no  business  at  a  university?"  Waring 
said,  frowning  a  little. 

"Oh,  yes,  some  of  them;  those  clever  enough  to  dis- 
tinguish themselves  in  a  profession— or  those  dull 
enough  to  be  merely— gentlemen." 

Waring  smiled.  Then  he  felt  in  his  pocket  for  a  let- 
ter received  that  morning,  which  had  caused  him  as 
much  pleasure  as  if  it  had  announced  a  fortune.  Though 
he  had  no  intention  of  accepting  this  call  to  another  uni- 
versity, he  was  conscious  of  a  boyish  desire  that  the 
President  should  know  of  its  reception.  The  university 
in  question  was  distinguished  for  its  conservatism  and 
high  standard  of  scholarship.  To  be  called  by  it  implied 
that  certain  spurs  had  been  already  won.  Waring  knew 
that  his  one  year  as  assistant  professor  of  mathematics 
could  not  have  counted  for  him.  The  honor  was  due  to 
the  magazine.  This  made  him  the  more  anxious  that 
Hunt  should  know.  He  handed  it  to  the  President  with- 
out a  word. 

Hunt  read  it  through  and  returned  it  to  him. 

1 '  Will  you  accept  I "  he  said,  careful  to  keep  bias  out 
of  his  voice.  He  did  not  wish  to  lose  Waring,  but  still 
less  did  he  wish  to  have  him  know  it. 

"No." 

"Hallworth  still  contents  you?" 

Waring  winced,  as  a  man  accused  of  infidelity  to  the 
love  of  his  life. 

"Hallworth  is  my  Alma  Mater.  Naturally  I  prefer 
her  to  all  other  universities. ' ' 

261 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

He  was  conscious  of  the  speech  sounding  sophomoric, 
but  Dr.  Hunt 's  smile  was  not  critical. 

"You  are  late,"  Barbara  said,  as  he  greeted  her. 
She  was  standing  by  her  husband  at  the  door  of  the  little 
drawing-room,  already  crowded.  Waring  thought  she 
looked  very  lovely  in  her  simple  white  dress,  with  its 
sash  of  brilliant  red,  matching  the  roses  she  carried. 

' '  I  was  detained  by  the  President.    I  am  so  sorry. ' ' 

"Do  you  know  whether  he  is  coming  this  evening?" 

"I  think  not— and  you,  Dr.  Penfold?"  he  added, 
turning  to  his  host  with  a  gleam  of  mischief  in  his  eyes, 
* '  the  University  should  canonize  you  for  this  sacrifice ! ' ' 

1 '  My  dear  boy,  only  inexorable  logic  brought  me  to  it. 
But  now  that  it  is  upon  me  I  am  thoroughly  enjoying 
myself. ' ' 

M  Is  Miss  Dare  here?  "  Waring  asked  Barbara. 

"She  is  pouring  coffee.  Elizabeth  has  the  chocolate. 
Don 't  you  want  to  take  some  one  out. ' ' 

"If  you  will  promise  me  the  pleasure  of  taking  you 
later." 

"Indeed,  yes!" 

She  turned  to  greet  Mrs.  Joyce,  who  had  evidently 
overheard  their  last  words.  She  looked  gaily  from  one 
to  the  other. 

"Dear  Petrarch,  when  will  you  begin  to  publish  son- 
nets in  College  and  State?  Or  is  it  too  serious  an  organ 
for  such  dainty  trifles?" 

Waring  to  his  disgust  felt  himself  flush  at  the  impli- 
cation. 

"One  must  have  a  Laura,"  he  said  lightly,  "to  whom 
to  write  sonnets.    I  am  not  so  fortunate."    He  was  be- 

262 


THE    REVELATION    OF   PAIN 

ginning  to  find  Mrs.  Joyce's  audacity  rudeness.  Since 
the  night  of  her  tilt  with  Barbara  he  had  not  called  on 
her,  and  her  delicate  malice  was  asking  why. 

"Mr.  Waring,  I  fear,  is  not  a  poet,"  Barbara  said, 
smiling,  but  with  a  dignity  that  seemed  to  Waring  to 
clothe  her  all  at  once  in  flowing  matronly  garments. 
He  avoided  her  eyes  as  he  said,  with  sudden  wish  to 
mystify  Mrs.  Joyce: 

"No;  but  I  should  like  to  be." 

"Nothing  easier— fall  in  love,"  said  the  little  lady. 

"I  have  a  hundred  times— and  remained  mute." 

"Take  me  to  the  dining-room.  Mrs.  Penfojd,  you'll 
forgive  this  outrageous  haste,  but  Herbert  and  I  dined 
on  bread  and  cheese.  The  pipes  froze  this  morning,  and 
the  only  available  plumber  buried  his  mother-in-law  this 
afternoon. ' ' 

Barbara  nodded  and  smiled;  but  as  Mrs.  Joyce  went 
away,  clinging  to  Waring  like  a  little  gilded  burr,  she 
was  conscious  of  a  vague  sense  of  resentment  against 
this  woman,  whose  velvety  eyes  sometimes  revealed  the 
rapier.  Why  should  she  single  her  out  for  thrusts  1  In- 
voluntarily she  moved  a  little  closer  to  her  husband. 

Perdita  passed  her  and  put  her  hand  lightly  in  Bar- 
bara's for  a  moment.  Since  the  night  of  the  fairy-tale 
a  certain  affection  had  existed  between  them,  built  on  the 
foundation  of  the  unspoken. 

"As  a  privileged  character  I  am  going  to  remain  a 
while.  Three  whist  fiends  have  asked  me  to  join  them 
up-stairs. ' ' 

"Oh,  please  stay  and  be  as  happy  as  you  can,"  Bar- 
bara said.  "I  hope  our  guests  are  not  wishing  we  had 
built  an  extension. ' ' 

•   263 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

"Your  hospitality  has  expanded  the  walls.  And  I'm 
sure  the  scene  in  the  dining-room  would  appeal  to  your 
hostess-heart.  You've  put  every  one  in  a  heavenly  hu- 
mor. Dr.  Leonard  even  asked  his  wife  if  he  should 
bring  her  another  ice. ' ' 

Barbara  laughed. 

"  I  'm  glad  they  are  happy ! ' ' 

She  was  beginning  herself  to  relax  under  the  grow- 
ing impression  that  things  were  moving  well.  Dr.  Pen- 
fold  was  talking  with  the  astronomer  of  Hallworth,  and 
she  turned  away,  mingling  with  those  guests  still  in  the 
drawing-room.  A  familiar  voice  speaking  her  name 
drew  her  to  the  corner  where  Allaire  sat  with  Dutton. 

"Stop  being  great  lady  and  play  with  us  a  minute," 
Allaire  said  quaintly.  Barbara  seated  herself  beside  her, 
but  in  the  same  moment  Mrs.  Sordello  beckoned  her 
daughter  from  across  the  room,  and  Allaire  rose  with 
reluctance.  Her  mother,  still  haunted  by  the  vision  of  a 
college  president,  was  always  uneasy  when  Allaire  looked 
too  happy. 

"Did  Richard  tell  you  he's  been  called  to  Merion 
University?"  Dutton  said. 

Barbara  gazed  at  him  blankly  for  a  moment,  then 
she  said  slowly  and  with  an  effort: 

"No,  he  didn't  tell  me." 

"The  letter  only  came  this  morning.  It's  a  great 
honor— a  full  professorship!" 

The  roses  slipped  from  Barbara's  hand  to  the  floor. 
Some  misery  which  she  could  not,  dare  not  understand 
suddenly  weighed  on  her  like  a  thick,  stifling  cloud. 

"Will  he  accept?" 

"I  think  it  likely,"  Dutton  said,  still  smiling  over 
264 


THE    REVELATION    OF   PAIN 

his  news.  "Waring  certainly  has  the  trick  of  rising — 
but  it's  more  than  luck,"  he  added  loyally.  "That  mag- 
azine of  his  has  attracted  a  great  deal  of  attention." 

"Yes,  it  is  very  clever,"  Barbara  said,  in  a  dull 
voice.  She  was  sitting  up  straight  and  stiff  now,  her 
eyes  wide  and  dark  in  the  sudden  pallor  of  her  face. 

Dutton,  unconscious  of  the  effect  his  words  had  had 
upon  her,  talked  on  of  Waring,  and,  becoming  remini- 
scent, recounted  the  circumstances  of  their  first  meeting 
on  a  memorable  October  evening  in  their  freshman  year, 
and  sundry  college  adventures  shared  in  common.  Bar- 
bara listened  with  a  pain  in  her  breast  which  bewildered 
her,  oppressed  her. 

"He  has  a  genius  for  friendship,"  Dutton  was  say- 
ing. "If  he  should  accept  I  should  miss  him  dreadfully; 
but  I  would  not  be  selfish  enough  to  wish  to  keep  him. 
He  'd  have  a  full  professorship  there. ' ' 

Barbara  nodded.  A  genius  for  friendship  !  Yes !  She 
and  Waring  were  friends  indeed,  such  good  friends  that 
the  thought  of  Hallworth  without  him  hurt  her  before 
she  was  aware.  He  had  asked  her  once  to  look  upon 
him  as  an  old  friend.  Even  if  he  did  go,  might  she  not 
think  of  him  in  that  way,  find  consolation  in  that  1 

"I  am  come  to  claim  you,  Mrs.  Penfold." 

She  raised  her  face,  white  with  its  intensity  of  feel- 
ing, to  his,  as  glad  to  hear  his  voice  as  if  he  had  come 
back  from  the  dead.  In  her  imagination  he  had  already 
left  Hallworth.  She  rose  at  once,  excusing  herself  to 
Mr.  Dutton.  As  they  went  in  he  asked  her  if  she  were 
tired.  Smiling  up  into  his  face,  she  said  "No."  She 
would  not  be  less  generous  than  Dutton. 

The  momentary  gladness  which  the  sight  of  him  had 
265 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

quickened  was  lost  again  in  a  sea  of  confused  feeling. 
She  waited  until  he  was  seated  beside  her,  then,  forcing 
herself  to  look  happy,  she  said: 

"Mr.  Dutton  has  told  me  about  Merion.  I  congratu- 
late you." 

"It  was  gratifying.  I  am  glad  of  it  for  just  that. 
But  I'm  not  going  to  accept." 

1 '  You  are  not  going  to  accept  I ' ' 

Some  tremor  in  her  voice  drew  his  eyes  to  hers.  They 
gazed  at  him  frankly,  but  the  joy  in  them  enveloped  him, 
covered  him  with  glory.  His  heart  leaped  in  sudden, 
tender,  fearful  exultation.  Barbara  was  glad  that  he 
was  staying,  and  with  her  beautiful  sincerity  showing  it 
in  her  eyes,  her  tones,  her  look.  In  that  instant  of  won- 
der all  his  dreams  swept  past  him,  a  confused  golden 
mist,  through  which  he  saw  her  joyful  face. 

"No,  I  shall  not  accept,"  he  heard  himself  saying. 

"I  am  very  glad.  We— Hallworth  could  not  spare 
you." 

"And  I  love— Hallworth  too  well  to  leave  it.  I'd 
rather  be  second  or  third  here  than  first  anywhere  else. ' ' 

He  spoke  with  sudden  enthusiasm,  as  if  the  realiza- 
tion of  what  it  would  mean  to  leave  Hallworth  broke 
upon  him. 

Then  they  talked  like  two  light-hearted  children. 
Barbara  did  not  stop  to  analyze  her  joy. 

The  evening  ended  gaily  and  informally  by  a  gath- 
ering up-stairs  in  the  study  of  the  nearer  friends  after 
the  other  guests  had  taken  their  departure.  Perdita, 
watching  Barbara,  and  noting  her  quiet  content,  with 
its  undercurrent  of  happy  feeling  that  betrayed  itself  at 
times  in  a  word  or  look,  thought  that  no  prophecy  of  dis- 

266 


THE    REVELATION    OF    PAIN 

aster  could  be  safely  made  of  any  marriage,  however 
strange.  This  marriage  was  evidently  turning  out  well. 
She  was  deeply  thankful  for  Barbara's  sake. 

But  when  the  last  guests  were  gone  Barbara  had  a 
sense  of  dissatisfaction  with  herself. 

"Are  you  very  tired,  dear?"  she  said  to  her  hus- 
band, in  a  tone  that  seemed  not  only  concerned  but  re- 
gretful. 

1 '  I  am  tired,  yes,  but  I  enjoyed  the  evening.  Every- 
body was  very  pleasant.  I  think,  my  dear,  your  party 
was  a  success." 

Barbara  sighed. 

"I  am  glad  it  was,  but  I'm  almost  sorry  there  are 
two  more." 

Dr.  Penfold  looked  surprised. 

"Why,  my  dear?    Didn't  you  enjoy  yourself?" 

"Oh,  yes;  but  I  think  I've  been  too  frivolous.  I  feel 
now  like  studying  and  working  hard,  and— and  being 
sensible!" 

Her  husband  smiled.  He  had  heard  that  women 
were  strange  and  variable;  but  he  scarcely  credited  Bar- 
bara with  so  much  femininity. 

"Do  not  be  afraid  to  live.  I  can't  do  it  myself,  but 
you  are  young— and  a  woman!" 

"Do  not  be  afraid  to  live,"  she  repeated,  as  if  pon- 
dering upon  his  words. 

He  thought  her  tired ;  but  the  next  morning  her  mood 
was  still  upon  her.  She  came  down  to  breakfast  in  a 
straight  little  penitential  gown  of  black,  a  dress  of  her 
freshman  year. 


267 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 


"And  it  is  next  Sunday  that  you  are  to  preach  before 
the  University?" 

Mrs.  Maturin  and  Perceval  were  standing  in  one  of 
the  alcoves  of  the  historical  library.  Meeting  there  by 
chance,  she  had  detained  him  on  one  pretext  and  another. 
He  had  avoided  her  of  late,  and  she  had  no  desire  to 
lose  as  a  friend  the  man  whom  she  would  not  recognize 
as  a  lover.  To  turn  a  lover  into  a  friend  was  a  task  she 
thought  requiring  greater  powers  of  enchantment  than 
the  reverse  process.  To  awaken  emotion  was  a  compara- 
tively simple  art;  to  eternalize  it  you  must  use  all  the 
resources  of  your  spirit. 

"Yes;  it  is  the  date  they  usually  give  me." 

"Will  you  preach,  to  the  Faculty  or  to  the  young 
things?" 

Perceval  smiled. 

"I'm  afraid  I've  not  enough  fervor  of  spirit  just 
now  to  preach  acceptably  to  the  young  things.  I  shall 
preach  to  the  Faculty." 

1 '  Have  you  chosen  your  text  ? ' ' 

"  'He  that  seeks  to  save  his  life  shall  lose  it.'  " 

"Do  you  believe  that?" 

"Sometimes." 

With  her  he  could  be  absolutely  sincere.  It  was  the 
one  expression  of  his  love  which  he  allowed  himself. 

268 


"HE   THAT   SEEKS   TO   SAVE   HIS  LIFE" 

She  looked  at  the  high-bred,  reserved  face,  with  its 
marks  of  suffering,  and  the  thought  crossed  her  mind 
that  suffering,  not  faith,  had  sent  Perceval  into  the 
priesthood.  His  peculiar  gift  for  understanding  every 
form  of  pain  stood  him  in  the  place  of  spiritual  illumi- 
nation. 

"Mr.  Perceval." 

"Yes." 

"Are  you  a  believer!" 

1  •  Intermittently. ' ' 

1  '  And  between  believing  I ' ' 

"I  work  like  a  horse  at  my  chosen  profession  of 
doing  good." 

The  faint  satire  in  his  voice  revealed  self -mockery. 
Something  rose  in  her  and  protested. 

"  Is  it  a  little  thing  to  have  youth  come  to  you,  trust 
you?" 

His  face  softened. 

"Bright,  brave  children!  They  make  one  feel  tar- 
nished, and  old  without  being  wise. ' ' 

"Preach  to  them  next  Sunday— not  to  the  old  and 
cowardly  children." 

She  spoke  lightly,  but  her  earnest  eyes  searching  his 
face  told  of  the  depth  of  her  belief  in  him.  Could  he 
not  be  thankful  for  that,  or  must  he,  ingrate,  clamor 
for  the  personal?  This  woman  enshrined  with  a  dead 
love,  yet  not  withdrawing  from  the  world— he  would 
have  her  give  the  lie  to  her  past  for  the  sake  of  his  own 
passion ! 

He  excused  himself  after  a  few  moments  and  went  to 
make  a  parochial  call  which  would  take  him  out  into  the 
country.     As  he  swung  along  the  forest  road  he  delib- 

269 


The  law  of  life 

erately  faced  the  hopelessness  of  his  situation.  He 
doubted  whether  she  would  ever  love  any  man  again,  but 
he  knew  that  she  would  never  love  him.  He  saw  it  in  the 
clear  pity  of  her  glance,  in  her  ill-concealed  effort  to  put 
him  right  with  herself  on  the  solid  ground  of  friendship. 
What  was  to  be  done? 

He  asked  himself  if  her  own  point  of  view,  so  mysti- 
cally beautiful  and  unusual,  was  a  sane  and  healthy  one. 
Could  she  go  on  loving  the  dead,  keeping  her  innermost 
life  for  the  dead,  without  eventually  becoming  morbid? 
This  existence  at  Hallworth,  however  bravely  she  went 
through  the  social  round,,  was  essentially  a  preoccupa- 
tion with  memories.  His  criticism  of  her  conduct 
brought  him  back  again  to  the  plane  of  hope.  After  all 
love  might  be  born  out  of  the  very  calmness  of  her 
friendship  for  him.  Greater  miracles  had  happened,  and 
Perceval,  in  this  matter  concerning  himself,  became  sud- 
denly a  believer  in  miracles. 

Barbara  heard  with  pleasure  the  news  that  Perceval 
was  to  preach  before  the  University,  as  since  her  mar- 
riage she  had  had  no  opportunity  to  hear  him.  Dr.  Pen- 
fold,  although  a  man  who  concerned  himself  not  at  all 
with  religious  matters,  finding,  as  he  said,  a  sufficient 
outlet  for  his  emotions  in  hard  work,  was  in  his  place 
every  Sunday  morning  in  the  University  chapel. 

Whether  this  attendance  was  atavistic  or  in  recog- 
nition of  an  official  duty  Barbara  had  never  been  able 
to  discover.  Whatever  its  cause,  Dr.  Penfold  seemed 
to  derive  a  certain  amount  of  pleasure  from  it,  as  he 
listened  with  calm  impartiality  to  every  variety  of  doc- 
trine.    It  was  a  tradition  among  the  students  that  the 

270 


"HE   THAT   SEEKS   TO   SAVE   HIS   LIFE" 

mathematician,  bridging  the  centuries,  was  a  disciple  of 
Pythagoras,  and  his  creed  a  numerical  table. 

Concerning  those  tremendous  problems  of  the  uni- 
verse, which  since  her  childhood  had  haunted  Barbara 
like  obscure  passions,  she  had  learned  not  to  speak  to  her 
husband.  Educated  by  her  uncle  along  philosophical 
rather  than  religious  lines,  she  had  by  no  means  ac- 
quired the  philosophic  mind.  Religion,  like  dancing, 
having  been  denied  to  her  emotional  youth,  she  some- 
times longed  for  the  luxury  of  it.  Since  the  night  of 
her  first  reception  she  had  had  a  dim  desire  for  some 
guiding  principle  in  the  labyrinthine  ways  to  which  the 
straight  path  of  her  childhood  had  led.  She  wondered 
what  Waring  believed.  She  thought  that  she  would 
ask  him  some  day.  They  were  such  good  friends  now 
she  could  ask  him  anything.  Those  few  moments  of 
bitter  pain  at  the  news  of  his  going  she  would  not 
even  let  herself  recall,  since  the  pain  held  also  bewilder- 
ment. 

The  chapel  on  Sunday  morning,  the  one  day  in  the 
week  when  services  were  held  there,  was  filled  to  the 
doors  with  students,  present  from  every  variety  of  mo- 
tive. What  churchliness  the  place  possessed  was  found 
in  the  Gothic  windows,  many  of  them  memorial,  from 
which  enhaloed  saints  looked  down  in  gentle  wonder 
upon  a  modern  university.  The  walls  were  covered 
with  bronze  and  marble  tablets  setting  forth  the  virtues 
and  scholastic  achievements  of  departed  servants  of 
Hallworth.  On  one  side  opened  a  mortuary  chapel, 
where  in  marble  was  carved  the  effigy  of  the  founder, 
clothed  in  the  academic  gown,  the  deeds  of  the  Univer- 
sity in  his  hand.  Thus  enwreathed  in  stately  Latin  sen- 
18  271 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

tences,  and  covered  with  the  mantle  of  a  scholarship  he 
had  never  known,  a  good  man  of  the  people  slept. 

No  altar  was  under  the  east  window,  but  a  platform 
with  chairs  and  reading-desk.  At  that  desk  ministers 
and  priests  from  every  denomination  had  set  forth  their 
peculiar  conceptions  of  the  universe  and  man's  place  in 
it.  The  University  listened  gravely  and  attentively,  and 
sometimes  sighed  and  sometimes  smiled  to  itself. 

Perceval,  facing  the  small  but  select  and  concen- 
trated congregation,  wondered  in  what  words  he  should 
address  this  peculiar  body,  the  keen  thinkers  and  pro- 
found scholars  of  the  Faculty,  the  bold  and  careless 
thinkers  among  the  students,  biased  by  their  youth. 
Then  the  impulse  seized  him  to  speak  to  himself  and  not 
to  them. 

He  announced  his  text.  Then  pausing  for  a  moment, 
he  began  to  speak  of  happiness,  of  the  various  concep- 
tions of  what  constituted  happiness,  from  the  crude  no- 
tions of  the  savage  to  the  doctrine  of  a  Plato,  or  an 
Aristippus;  from  the  stoicism  of  a  Roman  Emperor  to 
the  ecstasy  of  a  vision-haunted  hermit. 

"But,  after  all,  we  are  not  concerned  with  their  con- 
ceptions of  happiness.  The  Roman  Empire  as  a  fact,  if 
not  as  an  ideal,  has  passed  away,  and  with  it  its  peculiar 
setting.  The  fair  Athens  in  which  the  philosophers 
walked  is  a  dream.  The  aspirations  of  the  Middle  Ages 
are  no  longer  felt  by  the  modern  world.  You  young 
men  and  women,  however  you  may  wander  into  that 
dream-world,  peopled  with  stately  shades,  are  concerned 
primarily  with  the  here  and  now.  What  will  bring  you 
lasting  happiness?  Are  the  quiet  joys  of  the  scholar 
more  enduring  than  youthful  dreams  and  youthful  love  ? 

272 


"HE   THAT   SEEKS   TO   SAVE   HIS   LIFE" 

No;  they  shall  both  be  laid  away  at  last  in  gray  cham- 
bers. The  fiery  blossom,  the  page  heavy  with  its  Greek, 
both  decay;  though  the  process  be  short  with  one,  long 
with  the  other.  Your  sweet  friendship  of  to-day  is  to- 
morrow one  with  the  dead  violets.  Your  honors  are  less 
lasting  than  the  ivy  devouring  the  solid  wall.  'Even 
the  holy  house  shall  crumble,'  Lytton  writes. 

"If  the  bliss  of  living  be  denied  us,  what  of  the 
bliss  of  dying?  If  it  be  forbidden  to  us  to  be  in  love 
with  life,  what  if  we  should  be  in  love  with  death,  as  a 
surer  conserver  of  energy!  What  if  with  St.  Paul  we 
should  cry,  'I  die  daily,'  as  the  only  terms  upon  which 
we  could  really  secure  life!  What  is  this  dying  daily? 
this  laying  down  of  life,  to  gain  life— this  renunciation 
of  happiness  for  the  sake  of  some  far-off  immortal  bliss  ? 
I  do  not  know  what  it  is,  but  I  know  the  power  of  its 
workings.  The  sweetness  of  rejection  may  be  felt  even 
by  a  child  creeping  to  its  parent's  arms  at  last  after  a 
day  of  play.  The  strenuous  scholar,  sacrificing  himself 
to  gain  his  object;  the  soldier,  fearful  lest  death  should 
pass  him  by  as  one  unworthy  of  such  high  honor;  the 
mother,  giving  up  all  things  for  the  child;  do  these  not 
know  the  bliss  of  dying?  Are  they  not  powerful  in  the 
world's  economy?  So  I  say  unto  you,  die.  But  I  say, 
also,  do  not  anticipate  the  act  of  dying.  Go  on  with 
your  work,  your  play,  your  love,  your  life,  cheerily, 
heartily,  but  with  that  reverence  in  your  heart  for  the 
highest,  which,  when  at  last  in  some  crisis  you  meet  life 
and  death,  will  show  you  the  true  life,  the  true  death, 
and  cause  you  to  be  willing  to  encounter  darkness  as  a 
bride  rather  than  live  unworthily.  This  is  the  lesson 
of  the  Crucifix,  of  One  who,  regard  Him  as  you  will, 

273 


THE    LAW    OF    LIFE 

Son  of  God  or  Son  of  Man,  knew  to  the  uttermost  the 
joy  of  dying.    This  joy  no  man  takes  from  you." 

Waring  was  waiting  on  the  chapel  steps  as  Barbara 
came  out.    ' '  Won 't  you  go  for  a  walk  ?    It  is  early. ' ' 

She  turned  to  him  a  face  translucent  with  feeling. 

1 '  No ;  you  look  critical.  And  I  couldn  't  bear  to  have 
a  disparaging  word  now." 

But  she  knew  that  she  would  go  with  him,  and  he 
knew  it,  drawing  her  with  the  appeal  of  his  eyes. 

"Bring  Mr.  Waring  back  to  dinner,"  Dr.  Penfold 
said.  "An  old  student  in  New  York,  Richard,  who  de- 
serves to  be  canonized  for  the  act,  has  sent  me  a  box  of 
extravagant  cigars." 

Waring  laughed,  turning  away  with  Barbara,  who 
seemed  absorbed  in  her  thoughts.  He  carefully  avoided 
any  allusion  to  the  sermon,  and  pointedly  drew  the  con- 
versation in  an  antipodal  direction. 

But  his  companion  did  not  respond.  Having  tacitly 
forbidden  him  to  speak  of  the  sermon,  she  was  now  re- 
senting his  silence,  as  more  critical  than  speech.  Sud- 
denly she  interrupted  his  leisurely  account  of  the 
crew 's  plans  for  the  next  boat-race. 

1 '  You  did  not  like  that  sermon  ?  •  ■ 

"No." 

"Why  not?" 

"I  am  too  much  of  a  Greek  in  my  sympathies  to  be- 
lieve in  the  creed  of  dying.  Besides  it  was  mystical,  and 
I  do  not  like  mysticism.  It  implies  a  kind  of  mental 
laziness. ' ' 

"But  you  wouldn't  say  that  Mr.  Perceval  has  a  lazy 
mind." 

274 


''HE   THAT   SEEKS   TO   SAVE   HIS   LIFE" 

1 '  Oh,  no !    It  was  only  his  mood  this  morning. ' ' 

Barbara  looked  distressed. 

' '  Only  his  mood  f    But  it  rang  true ! ' ' 

"Mood  or  principle,  I  don't  think  it  a  true  concep- 
tion of  life,"  Waring  said,  smiling  a  little  as  he  looked 
into  her  upturned  wistful  face. 

"Come  into  the  Museum  of  Casts  a  minute.  The 
janitor  is  there  this  morning  and  will  let  us  in." 

"Why  do  you  want  to  go  in  there?"  Barbara 
said. 

"To  show  you  why  the  Greek  ideal  appeals  to  me 
most. ' ' 

They  went  together  into  the  great  hall,  against  the 
dull  green  walls  of  which  white,  immortal  forms  stood  in 
divine  calm.  Barbara,  gazing  up  at  the  still  faces, 
thought  that  the  tortured  figure  on  the  Cross  was  at 
least  nearer  to  human  experience,  and  said  so. 

"But  isn't  this  calm,  this  perfect  harmony  of  soul 
and  body,  a  higher  ideal  to  live  f or ! "  Waring  said,  less 
from  the  depths  of  conviction  than  the  desire  to  see  the 
light  kindle  in  her  eyes. 

Barbara  shook  her  head. 

"Of  course,  I'm  dreadfully  ignorant;  but  it  does 
seem  to  me  that  to  look  like  that,  to  bear  oneself  like 
that,  one  would  have  to  be  heartless." 

They  were  standing  before  the  Venus  of  Melos,  a  cast 
in  heroic  size.  The  statue,  placed  so  that  the  face 
seemed  gazing  down  the  long  stretches  of  the  lake,  filled 
Waring,  as  always,  with  the  sense  of  a  peace  incapable 
of  being  broken  by  any  sickness  of  the  soul.  He  looked 
from  the  triumphant  figure  to  the  woman  at  his  side, 
her  modern,  sensitive  face  betraying  its  longing  for  joy, 

275 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

for  certainty,  in  conflict  with  its  consciousness  of  the  twi- 
lights of  the  world. 

1  'Not  heartless,  only  never  rebellious  of  limitation. 
She  is  the  apotheosis  of  everything  finite,  my  white 
lady— and  gains  a  kind  of  eternity  by  her  submission 
to  time." 

He  laughed  over  his  attempt  at  epigram,  and  Bar- 
bara, catching  his  spirit,  laughed  too. 

"They  should  have  the  Venus  of  Melos  in  the 
chapel,"  she  said  daringly,  "to  correct  the  mysticism  of 
the  emotional." 

The  mood  provoked  by  Perceval's  sermon  had  van- 
ished under  Waring 's  criticism.  She  thought  herself 
almost  convinced  that  the  Greek  ideal  was  healthier, 
saner  than  that  of  medieval  Christianity,  not  realizing 
how  strong  was  her  desire  to  be  found  acceptable  in  his 
eyes. 


276 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

SPRINGTIDE. 

In  the  safety  of  the  unrealized  Waring  trusted  much. 
Honesty  might  consist  in  not  pressing  too  far  those 
shadowy  witnesses  of  thought  and  emotion  haunting  the 
tribunal  of  the  heart.  The  winter  weeks,  becoming  at 
last  spring  weeks,  had  thrown  him  much  with  Barbara. 
He  could  not  avoid  being  with  her,  he  told  himself,  fol- 
lowing casuistries  like  will-o'-the-wisps.  His  position  as 
assistant  professor  to  her  husband  made  his  frequent 
calls  at  the  house  obligatory.  Her  husband's  desire 
that  he  should  look  after  her  in  the  social  life  of  Hall- 
worth  was  in  the  nature  of  a  command  to  any  one  with 
gentle  instincts.  That  he  should  turn  back  now  was  to 
admit  to  himself  a  thought  which  hurt  his  deep  honor 
of  her;  to  imply  that  he  dared  to  love  her.  No,  better 
to  go  on,  seeking  her  more,  not  less;  making  of  this 
companionship  a  tribute  to  innocence. 

He  would  not  confess  to  himself  that  he  loved  her; 
that  she  of  all  the  world  meant  home  to  him.  So  long  as 
he  stifled  this  thought  he  was  privileged  to  be  with  her. 
Once  allow  it  life  and  he  must  go  into  exile. 

Yet  instinctively  he  sought  to  protect  her  by  making 
calls  here  and  there;  by  showing  attentions  here  and 
there  which  for  the  most  part  wearied  him  to  death. 
Perdita  alone  retained  any  hold  on  his  interest,  and  this 
chiefly  through  her  dear  sense  of  humor;  always  taking 
the  strain  out  of  tragedy  and  making  comedy  more  in- 

277 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

telligible.  He  wished  more  than  ever  that  he  loved  her. 
She  might  not  return  his  love,  but  she  could  point  the 
way  to  peaceful  exits.  Sometimes  he  feared  Barbara's 
very  sincerity  and  lack  of  histrionic  power.  What  would 
happen  should  she  herself  awaken?  She  was  not  like 
those  hopelessly  well-balanced  women  who  would  check 
him  off  their  list  of  friends  with  the  same  pencil  they 
used  in  figuring  up  the  butcher's  bill.  She  would  suf- 
fer. To  save  her  suffering  Waring  thought  he  would  cut 
off  his  right  hand. 

It  was  in  such  a  semi-heroic  mood  that  he  sat  writing 
one  April  day  in  the  office  of  College  and  State.  Chiefly 
owing  to  the  efforts  of  the  Emperor  the  magazine  had  not 
fallen  off  in  quality  during  the  winter  months.  She  had 
watched  him  and  Barbara  closely,  and  it  was  part  of  her 
self-imposed  guardianship  that  the  magazine  should 
maintain  its  standard  of  excellence.  An  editor  in  love 
might  betray  himself,  she  thought.  Whether  Waring 
was  in  love  or  not  she  did  not  know;  but,  the  situation 
seeming  to  her  common  sense  a  false  one,  she  planted  her 
outposts  with  a  view  to  the  logical  emergency,  and  en- 
couraged Waring  in  any  attentions  which  he  bestowed 
upon  herself.  Hallworth  being  in  her  estimation  as 
fruitful  a  soil  for  gossip  as  a  church  sewing-society,  she 
was  continually  astonished  that  no  whisper  concerning 
Waring 's  revival  of  medieval  chivalry  reached  her  ears. 
That  it  did  not  she  put  down  to  Barbara's  other- wo rld- 
liness  and  essential  childlikeness.  Mrs.  Penfold  had 
changed  her  garments;  but  the  same  soul  looked  out 
from  her  eyes,  a  soul  never  wholly  at  home  in  the  envi- 
ronment where  it  found  itself.  Watching  this  drama,  the 
Emperor  made  up  her  mind  that  she  would  take  another 

278 


SPRINGTIDE 

year  for  her  doctorate  before  leaving  Hallworth  to  study 
law  in  New  York. 

"Did  you  write  this  editorial?' '  she  asked,  looking 
up  from  a  page  of  proof.    , 

' '  Yes, ' '  Waring  answered. 

"It  is  abominably  bad." 

He  smiled. 

1  *  Won 't  you  write  it  over  for  me?" 

"I  will,  if  only  to  save  the  credit  of  the  magazine. 
What  has  gotten  into  you  lately ! ' ' 

"I  write  remembering  the  President's  ironical  smile 
over  my  youth  and  inexperience. ' ' 

"He's  jealous  of  your  enthusiasms.  He  knows  he 
sold  his  own  soul  years  ago  for  a  rare  Anacreon. 

"Let  me  see  what  I  did  say,  anyway."  He  reached 
for  the  proof. 

' '  Nothing  worth  remembering. ' ' 

Clyde  looked  up  from  his  desk.  Since  Waring  had 
flung  down  the  glove  in  behalf  of  the  students  he  had 
been  blindly  loyal  to  his  chief. 

"You're  not  just,  Miss  Dare.  I've  read  it.  I  thought 
it  particularly  good." 

' '  But  you  're  biased. ' ' 

"Naturally— I  want  to  get  back  next  year." 

"We'll  have  you  back  as  a  salaried  editor,  if  the 
tuition-fee  measure  isn't  repealed." 

■ '  Do  you  think  there  is  a  grain  of  hope  f ' ' 

"I  do,  indeed.  These  mass-meetings  have  not  been 
without  their  effect  on  the  President,  and  the  Faculty 
stands  now  about  even.  I've  put  it  to  a  thorough  can- 
vass. We'll  take  a  vote  again  before  the  term's  over,  if 
I  'm  not  much  mistaken. ' ! 

279 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

Clyde  looked  relieved.  Knowing  to  the  last  dollar  the 
extent  of  his  father's  resources,  the  question  was  to  him 
vital.  Already  he  was  practicing  prophetic  economy, 
sometimes  doing  without  a  dinner  that  Elizabeth  might 
have  flowers  for  a  dance.  Whatever  curtailments  were 
made,  she  at  least  must  not  be  deprived  of  the  symbols 
of  romance. 

The  three  heads  bent  again  over  their  work.  A 
knock  on  the  door,  before  they  had  time  to  frown,  ush- 
ered Dutton  into  the  room.  He  looked  about  him  with 
inviting  friendliness.    Waring  laid  down  his  pen. 

"You  have  good  news,  Dutton,  you  transparent  soul. 
You  don 't  mean  to  tell  me  you  've  heard  already  from  the 
book?" 

Dutton,  still  beaming,  handed  out  a  letter. 

"It  has  just  come,  and  of  course  I  ran  straight  to 
you.    Schelling  will  publish  it. ' ' 

"Good  work!" 

The  Emperor  gravely  stretched  her  hand  across  the 
table  and  grasped  Dutton 's.  "May  it  bring  you  all  you 
want,"  she  said,  and,  Dutton  turning  pink,  Waring 
hastened  to  add : 

"A  good  yearly  royalty  and  clamors  for  another 
book." 

Clyde  said  nothing  but  looked  sympathetic.  Student 
and  professor  were  on  the  same  plane  in  the  democracy 
of  romance. 

"Won't  you  sit  down?  We're  not  as  busy  as  we 
look,"  Waring  said,  when  he  had  read  the  letter. 

"No^thanks.    I'm  going  up  the  hill." 

At  the  door  he  turned  back. 

"By  the  way,  Waring,  have  you  made  your  decision 
280 


SPRINGTIDE 

about  the  summer-school?  The  registrar  wants  to  know 
badly,  for  the  announcements  are  a  month  late  as 
it  is." 

"Are  you  going  to  teach  in  the  summer-school  after 
such  a  strenuous  winter ! ' '  the  Emperor  said  dryly. 

Waring  bit  his  lip.  The  decision  hanging  over  him 
like  an  axe  for  the  last  two  months  must  soon  be  made. 
He  had  not  the  slightest  doubt  as  to  what  it  would  be; 
but  he  had  yet  to  find  the  excuse  which  would  satisfy 
his  own  growing  severity  with  himself. 

"I  haven't  made  up  my  mind  yet." 

"Do— that's  a  dear  fellow!  This  place  isn't  half 
bad  in  summer. ' ' 

"Don't  let  him  deceive  you,"  the  Emperor  said.  "I 
spent  a  summer  here  once.    It  s  as  hot  as  can  be. ' ' 

"If  you  happen  to  see  Madison  tell  him  I'll  let  him 
know  this  afternoon.    I  got  his  notice  this  morning. ' ' 

After  Dutton  had  gone  Waring  bent  over  his  work 
with  unseeing  eyes.  To  the  University  world  his  teaching 
in  the  summer-school  would  seem  entirely  natural. 
Members  of  the  Faculty,  young  and  old,  took  occasional 
service  there.  Among  the  younger  men  especially  it  was 
regarded  as  the  best  and  quickest  means  of  adding  to  the 
year's  salary.  Waring  was  poor,  and  a  summer's  work 
at  Hall  worth  profitable. 

But  he  was  quite  aware  of  his  motive.  He  knew  that 
if  Barbara  were  not  at  Hallworth  nothing  would  tempt 
him  to  sacrifice  his  month  or  so  in  his  beloved  New  York, 
his  walking-trip  through  the  mountains.  The  plan  to 
teach  in  the  summer-school  had  existed  since  the  night 
when  her  dear  eyes  gazed  at  his,  full  of  joy  that  he 
was  not  going  to  another  university. 

281 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

He  threw  down  his  pen  at  last. 

"I  have  no  ideas!  We'll  hold  it  for  the  June  num- 
ber." 

The  Emperor  looked  disapproval,  but  Waring  was 
only  conscious  of  his  desire  to  get  out  of  doors. 

Once  on  the  forest  road  calmness  came  to  him  with 
the  breath  of  the  spring.  It  was  a  delicious  April  day, 
the  soft  wind  bearing  delicate,  elusive  perfumes  of  the 
stirring  earth.  The  budding  trees  were*outlined  against 
the  milky  blue  of  the  sky.  Waring  remembered  a  hill 
where  as  a  freshman  he  used  to  go  for  arbutus.  He 
would  go  there  to-day  and  gather  some  for  Barbara. 
She  was  giving  a  reception  to  her  old  class,  the  junior 
class,  that  evening,  and  would  be  glad  of  flowers. 

As  he  walked  along,  the  reason  for  teaching  in  the 
summer-school  took  shape  irresistible  to  his  tempera- 
ment. If  this  tuition  measure  should  not  be  repealed, 
and,  in  his  heart,  he  knew  the  chances  were  not  as  favor- 
able as  he  had  represented  them,  could  he  not  loan  Clyde, 
in  part,  at  least,  the  money  for  the  first  year  of  his  post- 
graduate course?  This  loan  should  be  earned  in  the 
summer-school. 

After  some  searching  he  found  the  flowers,  delicate 
pink  and  white  blossoms,  under  the  damp  leaves.  Their 
pure  but  intoxicating  fragrance  filled  the  air. 

"They  are  like  her  soul,"  he  thought,  reverting  to 
primitive  metaphors,  in  the  rush  of  feeling  that  swept 
over  him. 

He  tied  his  plunder  in  his  handkerchief,  caught  to- 
gether at  the  four  corners.  He  would  take  her  his 
offering;  then  go  on  to  the  registrar's  office. 

282 


SPRINGTIDE 

She  came  into  the  little  drawing-room,  with  the  glad- 
ness in  her  eyes  always  there  at  the  sight  of  him.  She 
flushed  with  pleasure  when  he  gave  her  the  flowers,  and 
took  them,  handkerchief  and  all,  in  her  lap. 

' '  How  did  you  know  I  love  arbutus  % ' ' 

"It  seems  to  me  incarnate  spring,  and  you  love  the 
spring. ' ' 

"Yes.  I  have  been  longing  to  get  out  to-day,  but  I 
have  too  many  things  to  do.  No,  don't  go.  I  am  not 
so  busy  that  I  cannot  see  my  friends. ' ' 

Her  voice  paused  on  the  last  word.  The  joy  of 
friendship  had  seemed  to  her  these  last  weeks  to  tran- 
scend all  other  joys. 

"I  must  go.  My  eleventh  hour  has  come  for  seeing 
the  registrar.  He  is  getting  out  the  summer-school  an- 
nouncements. ' ' 

1 '  You  are  to  teach  in  the  summer-school  ? ' ' 

Her  tones  held  gladness,  but  repressed,  as  if  in  sud- 
den realization  that  you  must  not  show  always  how  glad 
you  are. 

"Yes." 

"When— when  does  it  begin?" 

"The  sixth  of  July." 

"And  it  lasts  six  weeks,  does  it  not?" 

"Yes." 

She  steeled  herself  for  sacrifice. 

"Don't  you  think,"  she  said  slowly,  looking  up  into 
his  face  with  troubled  eyes,  "that  you  ought  to— rest, 
get  a  complete  change  from  Hallworth?  Is  it  right  to 
work  the  year  round?" 

"Dr.  Penfold  does,"  he  said,  smiling.  "I  must  fol- 
low the  example  of  my  chief. ' ' 

283 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

"When  he  was  gone  she  went  up-stairs  and  put  the 
arbutus  in  a  bowl  on  her  table,  jealously  tucking  in  each 
sprig  and  leaf,  even  adding  the  particles  of  black 
mold  that  clung  to  the  damp  handkerchief.  This  she 
dried  before  the  open  fire,  holding  it  by  two  corners,  a 
screen  between  her  face  and  the  heat.  While  she  was 
sitting  there  Mehitabel  knocked  and  entered. 

"What  are  you  trying  to  do,  Mrs.  Penfold?"  she 
said.  "Gimme  that.  I've  got  a  good  fire  and  I'll  wash 
and  iron  it  both. ' ' 

"No,  Mehitabel.  It  isn't  necessary.  The  handker- 
chief was  only  damp.  Mr.  Waring  brought  flowers 
in  it." 

She  felt  curiously  reluctant  to  let  it  go  out  of  her 
hands. 

' '  But  you  ain  't  going  to  give  it  back  to  him  mussed  ? ' ' 
the  worthy  woman  said,  knitting  her  brows. 

"No,  of  course  not.  But  you  need  not  stop  your 
work  to  do  it  now. ' ' 

When  Mehitabel  had  left  her  she  folded  the  hand- 
kerchief and  put  it  away  in  a  bureau  drawer;  then 
she  sat  down  in  a  window-seat,  overlooking  the  campus, 
in  the  straight  attitude  she  always  assumed  when  think- 
ing hard.  Her  thoughts  seemed  to  trouble  her,  for  she 
knit  her  brows  more  than  once.  At  last  she  rose,  went 
to  the  bureau,  took  out  the  handkerchief  and  descended 
to  the  kitchen  with  it. 

"You  may  do  it  up,"  she  said  to  Mehitabel.  "I— I 
forgot  that  Mr.  Waring  was  coming  to-night,  and  I  could 
give  it  to  him  then." 

Mehitabel  took  the  square  of  linen  without  a  word, 

284 


SPRINGTIDE 

but  when  Barbara  had  turned  away  she  said  to  herself: 
"I  thought  she  had  come  to  tell  me  something  terrible. 
Poor  little  Missus,  she  don't  look  well.,, 


285 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

IN  CONFLICT. 

Two  months  later,  on  a  June  afternoon,  Waring  and 
Barbara  were  seated  together  on  the  porch  of  her  house. 
He  was  reading  aloud  from  a  volume  of  verse  by  a  young 
writer  of  the  Celtic  school,  highly  colored  poetry,  with 
its  undercurrent  of  melancholy.  It  had  grown  second 
nature  to  go  straight  to  her  with  his  new  discoveries 
or  his  old  enthusiasms ;  with  his  plans  or  his  disappoint- 
ments. He  found  her  always  not  only  sympathetic  but 
comprehending  to  a  degree  which  made  him  wonder 
sometimes  how  many  centuries  she  had  lived.  That  this 
understanding  of  his  life  might  become  tragically  sweet 
he  would  not  pause  to  think.  Two  souls  might  meet  on 
heights,  despite  the  low-creeping  and  envious  world. 

Barbara,  for  her  part,  was  conscious  only  of  living 
more  fully,  and  with  more  satisfaction  than  ever  before. 
The  joy  of  her  childhood  seemed  pale  and  narrow  con- 
trasted with  the  new  energies  awakened  in  her.  Every- 
thing interested  her  now.  She  felt  that  she  was  begin- 
ning to  love  Hall  worth  as  earnestly  and  devotedly  as 
"Waring  could  wish.  For  her  husband  her  affection  was 
deepening.  Though  more  and  more  they  lived  each  their 
separate  lives,  yet  she  was  conscious  of  wishing  to  in- 
clude him  in  her  new  happiness.  She  watched  his 
moods  as  if  the  fortunes  of  the  University  depended  on 
them.  * 

He,  for  his  part,  responded  with  gentle  gratitude; 
286 


IN    CONFLICT 

glad  that  she  was  happy,  and  in  this  friendly,  platonic 
sense  part  of  his  life.  The  incidental  character  of  the 
passion  which  had  made  him  a  married  man  had  been 
long  ago  revealed  to  him,  but  with  no  element  of  regret ; 
simply  the  self-revelation  that  above  anything  else  he 
was  a  mathematician.  As  long  as  Barbara  was  happy, 
he  could  not  feel  he  had  done  her  a  wrong. 

He  was  absent  now  on  a  three  days'  trip  to  New 
York  to  see  his  publishers  and  to  transact  some  other 
business.  Waring  was  taking  his  classes,  and  calling 
twice  a  day  to  learn  if  Barbara  needed  any  service  which 
he  could  render. 

The  glory  of  summer  rose  before  her  as  he  read,  the 
pomps  of  life  advancing  in  splendor  over  rich  green 
meadows  and  fruitful  orchards.  She  moved  her  chair  a 
little  that  the  sun  might  fall  full  upon  her.  Beyond  the 
porch  the  campus  spread  gay  with  youth  and  June. 
Suddenly  through  this  golden  haze  Waring 's  voice 
reached  her,  low  and  uncertain : 

"Morfydd  at  midnight 
Met  the  Nameless  Ones. 
Now  she  wanders  on  the  winds 

Wan  and  lone. 
I  would  give  the  light  of  eternal  suns 
To  be  with  her  on  the  winds 
No  more  lone." 

"I  do  not  like  that.  It  spells  death,"  she  inter- 
rupted.   ' '  Read  me  more  of  his  nature  poetry. ' ' 

.    Waring  closed  the  book,  his  face  colorless  with  his 
abstraction. 

19  287 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

''It  all  ends  in  death/'  he  said.  "Do  you  remem- 
ber Perceval's  sermon?" 

"Are  we  reversing  creeds?"  she  answered,  smiling. 
"Are  you  becoming  a  mystic— I  a  Greek?" 

"I  only  ask  to  become  a  man,"  he  said,  in  a  voice 
harsh  with  some  self-criticism,  and  closing  the  volume  he 
rose.  At  the  same  moment  they  saw  the  Emperor  com- 
ing up  the  garden-path. 

"Here  comes  my  embodied  editorial  conscience.  I 
assure  you  I  spend  my  days  eluding  Miss  Dare." 

He  tossed  the  last  words  to  the  Emperor,  and  she 
caught  them  with  her  usual  light  scorn. 

"And  well  you  may.  College  and  State  has  brought 
me  to  the  verge  of  nervous  prostration.  I  lost  ten 
pounds  last  month— and  Sir  Richard  gets  the  glory." 

"  I  am  going  straight  to  the  office  now, ' '  he  said  peni- 
tently. "  And  you  may  lock  me  in  for  the  next  five 
hours. ' ' 

"Well,  be  off  as  quickly  as  you  can.  I  want  to  talk 
with  Barbara." 

"I  hope  to  see  you  to-night  at  Mrs.  Maturin's  re- 
ception," he  said,  as  he  turned  from  them. 

The  Emperor  seated  herself  in  Waring 's  chair.  A 
SheUey  which  had  figured  in  the  morning's  reading  lay 
on  the  wicker  stool  by  it.  She  picked  it  up,  smiled,  and 
tossed  it  down  again,  then  addressed  herself  to  Barbara. 

"My  little  lady,  have  you  any  plans  for  the  sum- 
mer?" 

"No.  Dr.  Penfold  rarely  goes  away.  He  has,  of 
course,  a  book  on  hand.  I  shall  stay  and  see  that  he's 
comfortable  while  he's  at  work  on  it." 

"Is  that  necessary?" 

288 


IN    CONFLICT 

A  delicate  flush  overspread  Barbara's  face. 

''What  do  you  mean,  Helena?"  she  said,  with  dig- 
nity. 

''Couldn't  he  spare  you  for  a  few  weeks?  Couldn't 
Mehitabel  look  after  him ! ' ' 

"I  suppose  so,  if  I  had  to  go  away.  But  there  is 
nothing  to  call  me  away." 

"Yes  there  is— the  summer  vacation  that  you  ought 
to  have.  Elizabeth  and  I  have  planned  to  go  to  the 
Maine  coast  about  the  first  of  July  for  six  weeks  or  two 
months,  and  we  want  you  to  join  us.  You  really  ought 
to  come,  Barbara.  Sparta  is  an  enervating  place  in  sum- 
mer—all inland  towns  are— and  the  sea-air  would  set 
you  up.  You'd  come  back  fresh,  made  over,  ready  for 
the  year." 

Her  careless  manner  had  dropped  from  her.  She 
spoke  earnestly,  almost  imploringly. 

The  flush  in  Barbara's  face  deepened. 

"I— I  cannot  leave— my  husband,"  she  faltered.  "I 
should  not  enjoy  it— thinking  of— him  here  in  the  heat, 
working  alone." 

"I  think  he'd  work  a  good  deal  better,  knowing  you 
were  out  of  this  furnace, ' '  the  Emperor  said  bluntly. 

Barbara's  flush  turned  to  pallor. 

"Please  don't  urge  me,"  she  said,  "for  I  can  only 
say  no. ' ' 

"I  won't  take  no  for  an  answer.  You  needn't  de- 
cide now.  Think  it  over  and  tell  me  some  time  before 
commencement. ' ' 

"Elizabeth  is  graduating,  isn't  she?"  Barbara  said, 
for  the  sake  of  changing  the  subject. 

"Yes." 

289 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

"Will  she  come  back  next  year?" 

"Yes,  for  her  M.  A.  She  and  Frederick  will  have 
about  ten  letters  between  them  by  the  time  they  get 
ready  to  marry." 

"  He 's  going  on  with  his  course,  then  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  'spite  of  the  fact  our  quixotic  editorials  failed 
of  the  purpose." 

' '  What  a  pity  the  tuition  measure  wasn  't  repealed. ' ' 

"It  was  a  pity,"  said  the  Emperor  dryly.  "I'm 
afraid  my  chief  has  met  his  match  in  Dr.  Hunt.  How- 
ever, we  fought  a  good  fight. ' ' 

"How  is  Frederick  Clyde  managing  to  come  back?" 

"I  suspect  Sir  Eichard  is  at  the  bottom  of  it.  I 
think  he  will  loan  him  the  money. ' ' 

Barbara's  eyes  lighted,  as  they  always  did  when  she 
heard  Waring  praised. 

The  Emperor  rose  to  go. 

"Now  think  over  our  Maine  coast  plan.  You  don't 
know  heaven  till  you  know  that  coast.  Dear,"  her 
voice  grew  tender,  caressing,  "I  want  you  very  much." 

She  was  rarely  personal,  but  for  a  moment  her  fear 
and  anxiety  mastered  her.  She  drew  Barbara  to  her,  and 
Barbara,  suddenly  afraid  lest  tears  should  come  to  her 
eyes,  put  her  head  down  an  instant  against  her  friend's 
breast. 

When  the  Emperor  was  gone  Barbara  went  up-stairs 
to  her  room  and  locked  herself  in.  The  woe  that  came 
creeping  toward  her  under  that  gorgeous  mantle  of  tri- 
umphant summer  life  could  no  longer  be  ignored.  She 
was  face  to  face  with  her  lie.  The  realization  was 
yet  negative.    She  knew  that  she  had  not  told  the  Em- 

290 


IN    CONFLICT 

peror  the  truth  when  she  said  she  could  not  leave  her 
husband.  What  the  truth  was  she  dared  not  guess. 
The  room  becoming  intolerable  to  her  after  a  time,  she 
went  for  a  long  walk  into  the  loneliest  part  of  the  coun- 
try she  knew  thereabouts. 

' '  Is  Mrs.  Penf old  here ! ' '  Waring  asked  his  hostess. 

"I  think  she  is  still  here,"  Mrs.  Maturin  answered. 
1 '  She  came  only  half  an  hour  ago. ' ' 

Mrs.  Maturin  stood  at  the  entrance  to  her  drawing- 
room  receiving  her  guests  alone.  As  had  been  her 
custom  since  she  came  to  Hallworth  a  bride,  she  was 
giving  her  June  reception  to  the  University,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  freshman,  sophomore  and  junior 'classes. 
The  rooms,  opening  in  every  direction,  were  full  of  peo- 
ple inspired  by  that  peculiar  gaiety  which  always  at- 
tended the  breaking  up  of  the  University  for  the  summer 
vacation.  Through  this  throng  Waring  had  searched  in 
vain  for  Barbara.    The  other  women  he  did  not  see. 

"Whither  away,  Sir  Galahad?"  said  a  voice  at  his 
elbow. 

He  turned.  Mrs.  Joyce's  mocking  eyes  challenged 
him.  He  would  rather  have  met  any  one  else,  but  for 
this  very  reason  he  plunged  into  more  elaborate  cour- 
tesies. Of  late  he  had  called  so  faithfully  upon  her  that 
she  had  become  most  gracious  to  him. 

' '  Have  you  been  into  the  supper-room  1 ' ' 

"No.  Herbert  was  seized  with  a  working  fit,  of  all 
preposterous  nights,  and  went  away  like  a  rude  creature 
after  staying  about  three  minutes.  I  do  believe  he's  gone 
to  Scheffel's  to  drink  beer  with  that  horrible  German 
Dr.  Hunt  brought  over.    Have  you  seen  him  t    They  say 

291 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

he  knows  more  about  the  dative  case  than  any  man  on 
this  planet,  and  he  looks  it!  Mrs.  Cartwright  had  him 
to  dinner,  and  he  appeared  in  a  gray  flannel  shirt.  Yet 
Herbert  prefers  him  to  me." 

She  pouted  and  looked  injured.  Waring,  at  her 
side,  listened  to  her  chatter  with  a  smiling,  responsive 
face ;  but  his  heart  was  heavy  with  impatience  and  long- 
ing. Barbara  might  go  away  meanwhile,  and  one  word 
from  her  would  create  a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth. 
Face  to  face  with  his  love  for  her,  he  was  resolved  to 
carry  it  daringly,  recklessly,  into  the  high  places  of  the 
spirit.  It  should  not  curse  him  but  bless  him,  this  new 
enfolding  light. 

Mrs.  Joyce  kept  him  with  her  for  an  hour,  but  at  last, 
another  man  of  her  acquaintance  claiming  her,  he  was 
free  to  seek  Barbara.  He  thought  that  she  must  have 
gone,  and  it  was  with  a  thrill  of  joy  that  he  found  her  in 
the  picture  gallery,  seated  by  Perdita,  who  seemed  to  be 
carrying  on  the  conversation  with  little  aid  from  her  com- 
panion. Barbara,  gowned  in  a  severely  plain,  low-cut 
evening  dress  of  black,  and  wearing  neither  jewels  nor 
flowers,  looked  stately  and  distinguished,  but  not  youth- 
ful. The  pallor  of  her  face  seemed  less  the  result  of  physi- 
cal weariness  than  of  some  mental  strain.  Perdita,  watch- 
ing her  as  she  herself  talked  cleverly  of  nothing  in  par- 
ticular, was  reminded  of  the  night  on  which  Barbara 
had  come  to  her,  and  she  had  soothed  her  with  a  fairy- 
tale.   But  fairy-tales  were  no  longer  for  the  matron. 

" Won't  you  persuade  Mrs.  Penfold  to,go  to  the  sup- 
per-room V  Perdita  said.  "She  tells  me  that  she  took 
a  very  long  walk  this  afternoon,  and  came  home  too 
tired  to  eat.    She  should  have  a  cup  of  coffee.' ' 

292 


IN    CONFLICT 

Barbara  smiled. 

''Indeed,  1  don't  care  for  anything,"  she  said,  try- 
ing to  keep  the  weariness  out  of  her  voice.  She  did  not 
look  at  Waring  as  she  spoke,  but  leaned  back  in  her  seat, 
putting  a  detaining  hand  on  Perdita 's  wrist. 

"You  promised  to  tell  me  of  your  meeting  with  the 
new  German.  I  am  sure  Mr.  Waring  would  like  to 
hear  it. ' ' 

"Mrs.  Joyce  says  he's  a  savage,"  Waring  answered, 
seating  himself  opposite  the  two  women. 

Perdita,  conscious  of  Barbara's  desire  to  keep  her 
by  her,  began  an  amusing  account  of  the  learned  Teu- 
ton. Waring  listened  and  laughed,  and  Barbara  com- 
mented, but  always  avoiding  his  eyes.  It  was  becoming 
clear  to  him  that  since  morning  something  had  wrought 
a  change  in  her,  and  he  tormented  himself  with  ques- 
tions. Had  he  betrayed  his  secret  in  an  unguarded 
glance?  a  word  too  strongly  accented?  a  word  unsaid? 
Was  she  having  a  conventional  moment?  Or  was  she 
playing  at  being  worldly?— Barbara,  so  mystically 
scornful  of  the  artificial !  He  could  not  tell,  but  he  wa.s 
troubled,  hurt  by  her  aloofness,  her  studied  coldness,  as 
if  it  implied  some  distrust  of  him.  Did  she  not  know, 
he  thought,  that  no  matter  what  he  might  suffer,  he 
would  protect  her  from  himself;  that  his  continued  in- 
timacy with  her  was  but  one  way  of  saying  she  was  im- 
mune from  the  disease  which  might  unsettle,  his  own 
spirit;  that  malady  of  the  soul  expressed  in  a  desire  of 
the  impossible. 

Perdita  r^se  as  she  finished  her  story,  and  Barbara 
rose  too. 

' '  I  must  bid  my  hostess  good-night, ' '  she  said ;  then, 
293 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

without  looking  directly  at  Waring,  she  bowed  to  him, 
as  if  they  had  met  but  yesterday,  and  followed  Miss 
Ravenel  out  of  the  gallery.  Waring  remained,  staring 
with  unseeing  eyes  at  a  Corot  hung  just  above  the  seat 
that  Barbara  had  occupied.  Between  its  twilight 
witchery  and  his  dull  gaze  her  face  obtruded  itself,  pale, 
preoccupied  and  beautiful.    The  vision  hurt  him! 

Having  left  him  so  abruptly,  misery  overtook  Bar- 
bara. Fear  of  herself  possessed  her;  fear  of  the  lonely 
night  in  Her  husband's  house.  The  thoughts  which  had 
made  of  her  walk  into  the  country  a  breathless  flight 
from  her  own  heart  still  lurked  in  the  background  of  her 
consciousness,  ready  to  steal  upon  her,  ghost-like,  the  mo- 
ment she  should  be  alone. 

' '  You  are  not  going,  Mrs.  Penf old ! ' ' 

Mrs.  Maturin  held  her  hand  detainingly,  moved  by 
she  knew  not  what  appeal  in  the  pallor  of  the  younger 
woman's  face. 

"I  was— but— but  could  I  see  you,  speak  to  you 
after  the  guests  are  gone  ?  lain  not  feeling— well,  and— 
Dr.  Penf  old  is  away. ' ' 

"Stay  with  me  to-night.  I  will  send  word  to  your 
maid." 

She  spoke  with  decision,  realizing  that  Barbara  was 
in  some  mental  distress,  and  as  yet  too  young  to  act  as 
an  experienced  woman  of  the  world. 

"May%n" 

1 '  Of  course  you  may.    And  I  want  you ! ' ' 

Barbara,  conscious  only  of  her  relief  that  she  was 
not  going  back  to  the  accusing  house,  wandered  into  the 
library  and  took  a  seat  near  the  fireplace.  She  had  been 
there  but  a  moment  when  Waring  came  to  her. 

294 


IN    CONFLICT 

"I  am  come  to  say  good-night,"  he  said  gently,  as  if 
their  last  parting  had  been  but  an  ugly  dream.  "I 
feared  you  were  not  well.    You  look  tired. ' ' 

If  he  had  reproached  her  implicitly  by  an  aloof  man- 
ner she  could  have  borne  it  better;  but  the  gentleness 
unnerved  her,  and  it  was  with  difficulty  that  she  kept 
the  tears  from  her  voice  as  she  answered. 

''I  took  too  long  a  walk  this  afternoon.  Mrs.  Mat- 
urin  is  very  kind.    She  is  keeping  me  with  her  to-night. ' ' 

"That  is  good." 

He  talked  on  of  one  thing  and  another,  knowing  in 
his  heart  that  he  had  no  business  to  linger,  but  under 
the  full  domination  of  his  need  of  her.  She  listened 
without  looking  at  him,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  carved 
words  above  the  fireplace : 

"My  soul,  an  alien  here,  hath  flown  to  nobler  wars." 

She  read  them  over  and  over,  noting  every  turn  of 
the  carving  with  that  closeness  of  observation  which  is 
an  accompanying  characteristic  of  certain  moods.  At 
last  she  was  conscious  that  she  was  rising,  giving  her 
hand  to  Waring  again,  saying  good-night  to  him.  Other 
people  came  and  spoke  to  her.  Then  she  was  left 
alone. 

The  silence  was  broken  by  the  soft  rustle  of  a  silk 
train.    Mrs.  Maturin  stood  beside  her. 

"They  are  all  gone.    Shall  we  go  up-stairs?" 

They  went  together  through  the  silent  house,  fra- 
grant with  the  odor  of  roses  about  to  die.  The  air 
seemed  yet  delicately  electric  with  the  spirit  of  the 
guests,  as  if  their  light  words  lingered  in  that  fairness. 

Mrs.  Maturin  led  Barbara  to  a  small  room,  a  bower 
of  pink  and  white. 

295 


THE    LAW    OF    LIFE 

"I  keep  this  for  my  girl  friends.  I  thought  per- 
haps you  would  sleep  better  here  than  in  a  larger  room. 
Here  is  a  dressing-gown.  Won't  you  come  to  me  when 
you  have  made  yourself  comfortable?  I  shall  send  The- 
rese  to  take  down  your  hair. ' ' 

She  covered  up  Barbara's  silence  with  these  little 
nothings,  then,  turning  to  go,  kissed  her. 

"You'll  find  me  just  across  the  hall.  We  must  have 
a  cup  of  bouillon  together. ' ' 

Barbara,  left  alone,  looked  about  strangely  at  this 
room,  with  its  roses  and  true-lover  knots,  its  Madonnas, 
and  dainty,  ingenuous  furniture. 

"I  do  not  belong  here/'  she  thought.  Oh,  to  be  a 
girl  again,  and  to  know  what  she  knew  now! 

The  mere  physical  comfort  of  giving  herself  into 
the  hands  of  the  skilful  maid  sent  to  her,  soothed  her 
troubled  nerves.  When  her  long  hair  had  been  braided, 
and  a  soft  silk  gown  slipped  over  her,  she  felt  less 
tragic,  more  reasonable.  She  could  ask  calmly  now  cer- 
tain abstract  questions  which  Mrs.  Maturin  seemed  su- 
premely fitted  to  answer. 

The  maid,  preceding  her,  ushered  her  into  the  bed- 
chamber of  her  hostess,  furnished,  as  was  the  library, 
with  memories.  Its  luxury  belonged  to  the  past;  its 
ascetic  atmosphere,  felt  strangely  through  the  symbols  of 
love  and  wealth,  to  the  present.  The  low  lamp  burning 
on  a  table  near  the  narrow  bed  left  the  greater  part  of 
the  place  in  darkness.    Barbara  was  grateful  for  this. 

Mrs.  Maturin,  sipping  her  bouillon,  waited  for  her 
guest  to  speak. 

"It  is  good  of  you  to  shelter  me  to-night,"  Barbara 
said  uncertainly,  then  paused. 

296 


IN    CONFLICT 

"I  thought  you  looked  very  tired— perhaps  ill— and 
it  is  not  right  for  you  to  be  alone. ' ' 

Barbara  leaned  back  in  her  chair. 

"I  suppose  I  should  not  have  come.  You  should 
give  only  your  gayest  self  to  society. ' ' 

Mrs.  Maturin  smiled. 

"I'm  afraid  we'd  all  be  stay-at-homes  under  that 
condition.  No ;  I  'm  glad  you  came.  You  are  giving  me 
a  double  pleasure." 

"Does  life  ever  seem  difficult  to  you?" 

"Much  of  the  time." 

"  I  wonder  if  it  is  ever  perfectly  clear  to  people." 

"Sometimes,"  Mrs.  Maturin  answered,  giving  her- 
self up  without  surprise  to  this  catechism.  She  did  not 
expect  Mrs.  Penfold  to  act  with  convention  under  cir- 
cumstances so  unconventional. 

"Have  you  ever  been — perfectly  clear?" 

"Yes-once." 

Barbara  studied  a  moment,  then  she  said : 

"May  I  ask  a— a  strange  question.  May  I  ask 
when  1 ' ' 

"During  my  marriage,"  her  hostess  answered  in  a 
low  voice. 

"Because  you  were— happy?" 

"Yes." 

"Do  you  think  that  to  every  one— at  some  time  comes 
that  clearness,  that  certainty  ? " 

"Not  to  every  one,  no.  Some  are  not  capable  of 
deep  feeling." 

She  turned  and  looked  at  her  guest.  Barbara  was 
staring  into  the  twilight  of  the  room,  her  cheek  pressed 
against  the  back  of  the  chair. 

297 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

"Some  are  not  capable  of  deep  feeling,"  she  re- 
peated slowly. 

"No— dear." 

Barbara  turned  the  knife  in  her  heart.  She  would 
face  the  truth  though  it  damned  her. 

"What  are  the— signs  of  this  feeling?" 

1 '  You  mean  the  outward  and  visible  signs  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  the  genuine  hall-mark." 

Mrs.  Maturin  smiled. 

"Does  it  not  differ  with  temperament?" 

"Your  conception,  then?" 

"Mine?" 

"Yes— if  I  am  not  too  insistent." 

"I  think — it  makes  you  want  to  pray." 

"Yes,"  Barbara  said,  with  a  little  catch  of  her 
breath.  . 

"And  love  the  whole  universe— if  that  were  pos- 
sible!" 

"Yes." 

"And  be  quite  simple  in  thought  and  language." 

"Yes." 

1 '  And  it  makes  you  love  the  out-door  world. ' ' 

"Yes." 

"And  live  in  the  present.  Everything  beautiful  is 
more  beautiful,  music,  art,  nature.  You  know  at  last 
what  they  mean." 

"Yes." 

"And  you  are  purified— ennobled." 

Barbara  was  silent. 

"Ah,  it  is  God  Himself  come  down  to  make  you 
happy.    You,  of  all  the  world!" 

Barbara  was  silent. 

298 


IN    CONFLICT 

Mrs.  Maturin,  turning  to  her,  saw  that  her  face  was 
as  white  as  the  ruffles  of  the  gown  at  her  throat.  She 
rose  in  sudden  alarm. 

''Mrs.  Penfold,  you  look  ill— what  is  the  matter?" 

Barbara  rose  too,  trying  to  smile,  conscious  now  only 
of  the  desire  to  keep  her  misery  from  her  face. 

"  I  'm  not  ill — just  tired, ' '  she  faltered.  ' '  I  think — I 
think  I  shall  go  to  bed." 

Athena  looked  at  her  anxiously. 

1 '  You  will  not  take  a  little  wine  1 ' ' 

"No,  thank  you.    I'm  just— tired. ' ' 

Athena  drew  her  to  her  a  moment.  Suddenly  by  a 
flash  of  intuition  she  saw  Waring 's  face  against  the 
background  of  the  evening's  events.  She  put  the 
thought  from  her,  as  too  dreadful  in  its  suggestions  of 
tragedy  to  be  entertained  for  a  moment. 

Barbara,  alone  with  her  thoughts,  could  not  bear 
them.  She  lit  the  night-lamp  and  looked  about  for 
something  to  read.  A  Bible  was  on  the  little  stand  by 
the  bed.  The  stormy  book  of  the  Revelation  drew  her, 
and  she  read  on  and  on.  Dawn  found  her  still  wide- 
eyed,  but  at  last  she  dropped  to  sleep,  two  strange  sen- 
tences passing  again  and  again  through  her  brain,  like 
ghosts  from  the  day's  wreck — 

' '  My  soul,  an  alien  here,  hath  flown  to  nobler  wars ' ' ; 
"And  the  armies  which  were  in  heaven  followed  him 
upon  white  horses,  clothed  in  fine  linen,  white  and 
clean." 


299 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 
"did  you  wish  me  to  be  happy?" 

A  new  day  brought  sanity.  Reaction  from  the  emo- 
tions which  had  stirred  her  nature  to  its  foundations  left 
her  skeptical  and  glad  to  turn  to  the  prosaic.  She  spent 
the  morning  in  the  kitchen,  helping  Mehitabel  preserve 
the  early  strawberries.  The  good  woman's  homely 
talk  brought  her  back  to  the  wholesome  working-day 
world. 

The  moot!  lasted  till  afternoon.  Then,  with  the  grow- 
ing romance  of  the  hours,  restlessness  seized  her.  She 
would  take  a  walk  into  the  country,  but  she  would  con- 
trol her  thoughts. 

On  the  campus  she  met  the  Emperor  hurrying  to  a 
late  lecture.  She  stopped  her.  One  burden  at  least  she 
need  not  carry. 

"I  did  not  tell  you  the  truth  yesterday,"  she  began 
abruptly,  "when  I  said  I  could  not  leave  Dr.  Penfold." 
She  hesitated,  but  the  Emperor  did  not  give  her  time 
to  go  on. 

"Barbara,  you  shouldn't  indulge  your  New  England 
conscience;  I  don't  care  anything  about  your  reasons  for 
not  going— only  for  going.    You  will  go  with  us?" 

"I'm  not  sure." 

"You  don't  dare  refuse!" 

She  was  off  before  Barbara  could  answer. 
300 


"DID  YOU  WISH  ME  TO  BE  HAPPY V 

Walking  alone  on  the  forest  road,  Barbara  thought 
that  her  duty  lay  clear  before  her.  Not  night,  no !  That 
would  be  cowardly,  an  acknowledgment  that  the  feeling 
in  her  heart  was  wrong.  The  joy  that  Waring  had 
brought  into  her  life  should  remain  joy.     God  must  be 

her  guest. 

But  the  mysticism  in  her  was  passing  away  like  fog 
before  the  powerful  summer  sun.  The  mistake  of  her 
marriage  stood  in  clear,  hard  outline.  She  knew  now  the 
nature  of  that  obscure  suffering  which  had  haunted  her 
wifehood.  She  had  married  before  she  knew  what  love 
was.  But  her  husband !  Had  he  not  known  f  A  sudden 
resentment  filled  her  toward  this  gentle  scholar  who  had 
bound  her  hand  and  foot  with  a  passing  passion  of  his 
absorbed  life. 

Yet  the  recognition  that  she  had  been,  after  all,  a 
free  agent  dogged  her.  She  must  not  be  unjust  because 
she  had  been  brought  up  a  dreamer,  by  a  dreamer. 

The  turning  in  accusation  upon  the  dead  added  hurt 
to  hurt,  salt  upon  raw  wounds.  She  could  not  bear  it. 
Whatever  she  had  done,  she  cried,  she  must  take  upon 
herself  the  full  blame.  That  dear  head  in  its  last  sleep 
she  could  only  bless  with  remorseful  tenderness.  Was 
she  right,  either,  in  reproaching  her  husband?  Had  he 
not  acted  by  a  law  of  his  nature,  as  she  by  a  law  of  hers  f 
Entrapped  by  life,  circumstances,  was  not  blame  the 
height  of  folly?  Whatever  the  future  held  of  suffering 
and  readjustment,  she  must  part  from  the  past  with  a 
blessing. 

But  the  ideal,  too  high,  mocked  her  depleted  power. 
The  rebellious  thoughts  possessed  her.  She  wished  that 
she  had  asked  some  one  to  come  with  her,  that  she  might 

201 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

have  been  obliged  to  fix  her  mind  on  the  affairs  of  the 
moment.  She  was  glad  when,  coming  toward  her  along 
the  country  road,  she  saw  Elizabeth  and  Frederick  Clyde. 
Since  her  marriage  she  had  been  more  intimate  with  the 
Emperor  than  with  Elizabeth,  but  the  affection  between 
herself  and  this  girl  was  essential  in  its  nature ;  little  de- 
pendent, therefore,  upon  association. 

"I  am  so  glad  to  meet  the  two  graduates,"  she  said, 
smiling.  "I've  been  wanting  the  opportunity  to  con- 
gratulate them  both. ' ' 

"And  the  best  of  it  is  we're  both  coming  back 
again!"  Elizabeth  said.  "We're  so  happy  we're  get- 
ting superstitious — we're  afraid  it  won't  last.  You 
look  pale,  Barbara.    Aren  't  you  well  I ' ' 

"I'm  tired,  I  think,"  Barbara  said;  "it  is  so  good 
to  know  I'll  have  you  another  year." 

"It  is  Mr.  Waring 's  doings  largely,"  Clyde  said. 
"But  he's  always  helping  some  one  out." 

The  color  came  into  Barbara's  face.    She  smiled. 

"Turn  back  and  walk  with  us,"  Elizabeth  said. 

"Not  to-day.    I  must  go  on  a  little  farther." 

She  would  not  disturb  their  companionship,  great  as 
was  her  need  of  it.  What  they  meant  to  each  other  she 
was  beginning  to  understand. 

She  walked  on  in  a  happier  mood.  Could  not  this 
love  be  made  a  source  of  blessing  to  her?  Waring  was 
good,  was  noble.  Might  they  not  live  in  an  ideal  world, 
each  stimulating  the  other  to  higher  planes  of  life;  each 
working  for  Hallworth,  content  with  unrealized  ro- 
mance. 

302 


"DID  YOU  WISH  ME  TO  BE  HAPPY?" 

The  road,  which  had  followed  the  broad,  clamoring 
stream,  now  swerved  away  from  it,  and  Barbara  entered 
the  wood  to  walk  by  the  swift  water.  Coming  to  an  in- 
viting bank  of  moss  under  a  pine-tree,  she  seated  her- 
self and  began  in  childish  fashion  to  throw  sticks  and 
twigs  and  bits  of  moss  into  the  current,  that  she  might 
watch  them  whirl  away.  A  butterfly,  its  yellow  wings 
clogged  and  useless,  was  being  borne  along.  She  reached 
over  to  save  it,  almost  losing  her  balance,  and  felt  a 
thrill  of  pleasure  in  the  rescue  of  this  bit  of  life.  It 
should  go  back  to  June  and  joy,  when  its  little  wings 
were  dried. 

June  and  joy !  She  bowed  her  head  on  her  knees,  the 
hopeful  spirit  gone  from  her;  revolt  and  misery  pos- 
sessing her.  Souls  might  be  of  even  less  moment  in  the 
universe  than  a  drowned  butterfly.  Why  did  they  all 
struggle  so  to  live?  Was  it  in  the  hope  of  some  day 
going  forth  to  meet  their  dreams?  But  the  barriers! 
Some  could  never  go  forth,  because  they  had  put  them- 
selves in  prison. 

She  began  to  be  aware  after  a  time  that  the  sun  had 
gone  into  a  bank  of  cloud,  and  thunder  was  muttering 
in  the  distance.  All  her  life  she  had  been  afraid  of 
thunder-storms,  but  in  her  present  mood  she  was  inclined 
to  welcome  their  terrors. 

So  she  sat  on,  careless  of  the  threatening  twilight 
which  filled  the  wood.  Every  branch,  every  twig  stood 
out  motionless  in  the  thick  yellow  air;  then  the  roar  of 
the  wind  reached  her,  coming  toward  her  from  the  tor- 
mented trees  across  the  stream.  In  another  instant 
heavy  drops  were  falling.  Then  a  flash  of  fire  enveloped 
her.  The  world  crashed  about  her.  She  leaned  her  head 
30  303 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 


back  against  a  tree-trunk,  a  tall  pine  tossing  its  branches 
to  the  livid,  close-pressing  sky. 


"Barbara!     Get  up!" 

Waring  stood  over  her,  his  face  white,  against  the 
gloom.    He  stooped  and  lifted  her  to  her  feet. 

"What  do  you  mean,"  he  said  harshly,  "by  sitting 
out  in  a  storm  like  this  1 ! ' 

She  looked  at  him  with  pleading  eyes.  The  anxiety 
in  his  voice  was  music  to  her. 

"I  wasn't— thinking  of  the  storm.     I— I  didn't  care." 

"But  I  care!  You  don't  want  your— friends  taken 
from  you.  And  you  see  I  have  cause  to  fear, ' '  he  added, 
in  a  more  relaxed  tone,  "whom  the  gods  love  die 
young. ' ' 

She  smiled. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  am  not  in  that  category. ' ' 

He  was  guiding  her  through  the  dripping  wood. 
Toward  the  west  the  sky  was  growing  lighter. 

"There's  a  farm-house  on  the  farther  side  of  the 
wood.    We  can  go  there. ' ' 

She  was  suddenly  ashamed  of  herself,  as  if  caught 
in  an  act  of  cowardice. 

"I'm  sorry  I  made  you  anxious.  But  how  did  you 
come  to  find  me?" 

"I  met  Frederick  and  Elizabeth.  They  told  me  that 
they'd  spoken  with  you— that  you'd  gone  on.  The  storm 
was  coming  then.  I  went  to  the  farm-house,  thinking 
you'd  sought  shelter  there;  then  back  to  the  wood.  You 
were  sitting  so  still  when  I  first  saw  you  I  thought  the 
lightning  had  struck  you." 

304 


"DID  YOU  WISH  ME  TO  BE  HAPPY V9 

"Please  forgive  me!  I'm  so  sorry  I've  made  you 
trouble." 

"You  are  forgiven." 

She  walked  beside  him  in  a  glow  of  happiness  that 
she  had  no  will  at  the  moment  to  extinguish.  The 
sound  of  that  word  "Barbara,"  vibrating  with  his  love, 
would  be  in  her  ears  till  death.  She  had  been  named 
anew. 

When  they  reached  the  porch  of  the  farm-house  the 
rain  was  ceasing.  The  washed  air,  sweet  and  cool,  drew 
toward  them,  swaying  a  long  branch  of  red  climbing 
roses.  Barbara  picked  one,  hurting  her  fingers  with  the 
thorns.  Waring,  watching  her  fasten  it  in  her  dress, 
was  mute,  suddenly  shy  as  a  child  in  her  presence. 

"Frederick  tells  me  it  is  owing  to  you  that  he  can 
come  back  next  year." 

Waring  frowned. 

"Clyde  doesn't  exaggerate.     You  are  very  noble— 

She  turned  a  calm  face  to  him. 

"Clyde  doesn't  exaggerate.  You  are  very  noble— 
generous. ' ' 

She  was  telling  him  what  she  wanted  him  to  be,  tell- 
ing him  with  her  eyes,  her  mouth,  her  face  alight  with 
a  new  revelation. 

"  Don't  make  me  ashamed,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 
"I'm  no  high-flyer— and  it's  easy  enough  to  do  those 
things— pardon  me— but  it's  quite  damnably  easy. 
There  are  others— far  more— difficult." 

He  looked  at  her  intently.  She  dropped  her  eyes. 
The  youth  in  her  yearned  to  him.  Why  could  they  not 
take  hands  and  go  away  together  into  that  evening 
world,  happy  and  innocent?     Fearful  lest  her  thoughts 

305 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

should  show  in  her  face  and  betray  her,  she  suddenly 
said : 

"The  rain  is  almost  over.  We  must  go  back.  No, 
you  need  not  raise  the  umbrella." 

They  walked  along  in  a  silence  which  had  ceased  to 
be  embarrassing.  They  had  crossed  the  border  of  friend- 
ship, but  they  had  not  gone  far  enough  into  the  iri- 
descent world  to  be  altogether  blinded  by  its  shifting 
light  and  color.  Rather  they  were  pausing  on  its  boun- 
daries, gazing  at  it  as  those  who  look  upon  a  place  for 
the  last  time.  Both  knew  that  they  must  turn  back.  But 
privileged  by  that  prospective  nobility  they  lingered. 
Barbara  was  busy  constructing  a  dream-world  in  which 
she  continually  gave  him  up,  and  continually  claimed 
him.  Hers  and  not  hers!  Such  must  be  the  terms  of 
this  new  relationship.  Waring  was  thinking  of  her, 
sitting  motionless  under  the  pine-tree,  as  if  waiting  for 
the  judgment  of  heaven.  The  vision  intoxicated  him. 
He  had  seen  her  turn  pale  and  tremble  once  during  a 
storm.  That  she  should  expose  herself  to  the  elements 
with  indifference  told  him  much.  Joy,  unreasonable, 
tragic,  unutterable,  surged  through  him,  possessed  him. 
Her  soul  was  his ! 

That  evening  Barbara  was  seated  in  her  husband's 
study  awaiting  his  return.  She  had  put  the  room  in 
order  without  destroying  the  impression  of  disorder 
which  seemed  necessary  to  Dr.  Penf old  *s  performance  of 
his  work.  Vases  of  flowers  were  on  the  side-tables.  His 
brown  velvet  house-coat  hung  over  the  chair  by  his  desk. 

His  key  in  the  door  brought  her  down-stairs  with 
eager,  appealing  welcome.     Her  face  in  the  lamp-light 

306 


"DID  YOU  WISH  ME  TO  BE  HAPPY?" 

turned  to  his  was  filled  with  a  strange,  new,  compre- 
hending affection. 

"Barbara,  my  dear!  I  can't  tell  you  how  glad  I  am 
to  be  home.  New  York  is  a  horrible  place.  How  people 
Hve  in  it  and  keep  their  sanity  I  don't  know.  There's 
Schelling— sits  all  day  in  an  office  with  elevated  trains 
roaring  past  the  window  every  two  minutes.  No— I 
don't  want  anything  to  eat.  I'm  all  upset  with  hotel 
cooking.  Mehitabel,  you  might  send  me  up  some  dry 
toast  and  hot  water  about  eleven." 

Mehitabel,  taking  his  bag,  smiled  grimly.  What  ma- 
ternal feeling  she  possessed  went  out  to  Dr.  Penfold. 
She  was  always  apprehensive  when  he  departed  on  his 
rare  journeys,  and  welcomed  him  back  as  one  miracu- 
lously preserved  from  unknown  dangers. 

Barbara  brought  him  his  slippers  and  his  velvet 
jacket,  and  poured  out  for  him  a  tiny  glass  of  his  pre- 
cious Amontillado,  sent  to  him  by  a  Spanish  astronomer, 
once  a  visitor  at  Hallworth. 

When  he  had  made  himself  comfortable,  he  turned 
his  deep  leather  chair  not  to  the  study  table  but  to  the 
fireplace,  filled  with  a  bowl  of  June  roses. 

"Where  did  you  get  those,  my  dear?" 

"From  my  garden." 

"Thank  God,  I'm  home!  Have  you  been  lonely, 
Barbara  ? ' ' 

A  flush  overspread  her  face. 

"I  missed  you  very  much,  but  I  had  a  good  deal  to 
do.    I— I  helped  Mehitabel  put  up  the  strawberries." 

"Has  Wearing  been  here?" 

Barbara  bent  over  and  picked  an  imaginary  thread 
from  the  carpet. 

307 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

"Yes,  he  was  here  every  day "     She  hesitated. 

1 '  On  Wednesday  and  Thursday  he  came  twice. ' ' 

The  truth  left  her  pale,  but  her  husband's  attention 
was  already  drifting  to  his  work.  The  spirit  of  the  room 
took  easy  possession  of  him.  He  began  to  finger  the 
papers  on  the  desk. 

"I  put  your  mail  in  the  right-hand  drawer.  There  is 
a  good  deal  of  it." 

"I  shan't  look  at  it  to-night." 

' '  But  you  're  not  going  to  work  ? ' ' 

Dr.  Penfold  looked  apologetic. 

"Well,  you  see,  my  dear,  I've  lost  three  days.  I 
might  have  come  back  at  night,  but  I  never  sleep  in 
those  abominable  cars." 

"Did  you  make  good  terms  with  your  publishers?" 
Barbara  asked. 

The  question  surprised  him  a  little.  He  did  not 
know  that  she  was  aware  of  the  commercial  world.  But 
the  kind,  solicitous  tone  of  her  voice  explained  her 
words.  A  comfortable  feeling  possessed  him,  as  of  fire- 
light in  winter. 

"Schelling's  a  very  fair  fellow,  and  he  doesn't  take 
advantage  of  me  because  I'm  not  a  business  man.  I 
always  feel  perfectly  safe  in  his  hands. ' ' 

He  spoke  with  a  certain  innocence  and  trustfulness 
which  hurt  Barbara.  Her  idealism  formed  no  shield 
against  the  simple  words.  Her  conscience,  always  ready 
to  spring  at  her  throat,  demanded  of  her  if  she,  a  wife, 
were  less  true,  less  fair  to  her  husband  than  a  mere 
stranger  was  to  him.  This  same  innocent  abstraction 
which  prevented  his  being  a  good  business  man  might 
afford  her  dangerous  freedom.    Had  she  taken  an  unfair 

308 


"DID  YOU  WISH  ME  TO  BE  HAPPY?" 

advantage  of  his  eternal  preoccupation?  Was  he  per- 
fectly safe  hi  her  hands?  The  questions  evoked  only 
misery  for  answer,  and  in  self-defence  she  cried  that 
he  himself  had  thrust  her  into  the  world  of  Hallworth, 
had  given  her  over  to  Waring 's  care. 

Her  thoughts  making  her  restless,  she  moved  about 
the  room,  touching  the  flowers  in  the  vases  and  adjust- 
ing some  books  on  a  side-table. 

"I  think— I  think  if  you're  going  to  work  I'll  go  to 
my  room,"  she  said,  forcing  fcerself  to  a  smile.  "lam 
tired  to-night." 

''Very  well,  my  dear." 

Already  he  answered  from  a  mathematical  solitude. 
,She  knew  the  withdrawn  voice. 

Undressing,  she  felt  something  soft  and  sharp  against 
her  breast.  As  she  loosened  a  ribbon,  she  saw,  lying 
upon  her  white  flesh  like  a  deep  clot  of  blood,  the  rose 
she  had  picked  that  afternoon.  Shame  enveloped  her  in 
a  deeper  crimson.  She  knew  why  she  had  taken  it  from 
the  swaying  branch,  her  act  vicarious.  He  could  not  do 
it.  She  did  it  for  him,  had  slipped  the  flower  in  her 
dress  as  his  gift.  Suddenly  it  seemed  monstrous  lying 
there.  She  tore  its  drooping  petals  to  pieces,  and,  going 
to  the  window,  scattered  them  upon  the  warm  night. 

It  was  midnight.  Dr.  Penfold,  in  full  ecstatic  swing 
of  insurmountable  difficulties,  was  enjoying  his  opium 
dream  of  number.  Through  the  open  windows  June, 
fragrant  as  a  queen,  entered  and  caressed  one  blind  and 
insensate  to  her  seductions.  The  air,  vibrant  with  life, 
seemed  to  bear  the  souls  of  lovers  upon  its  bosom. 

309 


THE    LAW   OF   LIFE 

The  door  opened,  Barbara  stood  before  him,  tall  and 
pale  in  her  long  white  dressing-gown.  She  had  the  air 
of  one  meeting  judgment  half  way.  Instinctively  he 
rose. 

1 '  Dear,  are  you  ill  ?  I  had  thought  you  asleep  hours 
ago." 

"Amos,"  she  said,  her  voice  trembling,  "I  want  to 
ask  you  something.  Last  fall,  when  I  was  grieving  so 
for  my— child,  and  you  wanted  me  to  go  out  here  in 
Hallworth — accept  my  invitations— did  you  wish  me  to 
be  happy?    Was  it— for  that  reason?" 

"Why,  yes,  my  dear,"  her  husband  said,  with  a  be- 
wildered look.  To  be  brought  back  from  infinity  by  the 
sleepless  feminine  required  an  interval  of  readjustment. 
1 '  Of  course  I  wished  you  to  be  happy ! ' ' 

"I  have  been— I  am— happy.  Now  it  seems— wrong 
that  I  should  become  happy,  outside  of  your— house. ' ' 

"Wrong,  Barbara?  You  are  young,  child;  your 
husband  a  hard  worker.  No  one  could  expect  you  to  live 
out  your  life  in  these  four  walls." 

The  strange  misery  in  her  eyes  troubled  him.  He 
wished  that  she  were  not  so  conscientious.  Why  should 
she  begrudge  herself  the  pleasure  which  had  been  the 
very  warrant  of  his  freedom  to  work? 

"I  see  your  uncle  in  you,"  he  said,  smiling  at  her 
to  reassure  her.  "He  was  even  more  of  a  dreamer  than 
I  am  or  you  are,  and  I  remember  he  told  me  once  that 
he  was  afraid  of  happiness,  as  some  men  would  be  of 
sin." 

A  wave  of  color  swept  over  Barbara 's  face. 

"You  think  it  is  always  right  to  be  happy  if— if— 
you  do  not  neglect  your  duty." 

310 


''DID  YOU  WISH  ME  TO  BE  HAPPY?" 

"Surely!  And,  my  dear,  if  you  have  any  fault,  it 
is  that  you  are  over-conscientious.  Now  go  back  and 
go  to  sleep." 

He  spoke  with  a  playful  assumption  of  authority; 
she  smiled  faintly  as  she  bade  him  good-night. 

He  did  not  at  once  resume  his  work.  That  look  in 
her  eyes  seemed  too  tragic  to  justify  instant  forgetful- 
ness.  What  was  the  matter?  Was  she  run  down?  Or 
was  it  merely  a  mood,  or*  the  result  of  temporary  nerv- 
ousness ?  He  pondered  for  some  moments,  but  the  prob- 
lem of  feminine  vagaries  seeming  infinitely  more  dif- 
ficult than  that  on  the  page  before  him,  he  turned  again 
to  his  task. 


311 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

TWO  LETTERS. 

* ' Dear,  my  dear  Barbara, ' '  the  letter  ran,  "if  I  were 
the  kind  of  person  whose  feelings  came  through  my  chest 
easily,  I  should  now  write  that  you  have  marred  the 
summer  world  for  me  by  refusing  to  come  to  Maine. 
You  should  by  every  law  of  my  need  of  you  be  here 
between  sea  and  sky,  instead  of  watching  the  death  of 
the  campus  at  Hall  worth,  and  the  enthusiasms  of  the 
'thirsters'  who  go  to  that  unpardonable  mistake,  the 
summer-school.  You  and  I,  who  are  far  too  wise  to  be 
learned,  should  be  swimming  together,  basking  together 
on  the  rocks,  and  looking  into  the  emerald  world— em- 
erald—yes,  every  gem  the  universe  holds  is  in  this  sea 
and  sky. 

"Elizabeth's  far-away  California  mother  has  been 
able  to  leave  all  the  other  children  and  to  come  to  her 
learned  but  happy  daughter  and  her  prospective  son-in- 
law,  and  the  three  are  like  two-year-olds  together.  Eliz- 
abeth sends  her  love.  She  would  send  it  anywhere,  to 
any  one,  she  is  so  happy,  but  she  does  care  deeply  for 
you.  The  world  is  sharing  her  romance;  and  we,  who 
are  always  afraid  of  our  sense  of  humor,  look  on  and 
wish  we  could  be  romantic  too.  But  it  is  not  in  the  role 
of  an  'Emperor/ 

"I  heard  that  Sir  Richard  was  called  to  New  York 
immediately  after  commencement  by  the  convenient 
death  of  an  uncle,  who  leaves  him  a  pittance ;  not  much, 

312 


TWO    LETTERS 

I  believe,  but  enough,  as  I  wrote  him,  to  swell  his  yearly 
contribution  to  the  heathen.  What  dull  wit!  I  am  too 
healthy  to  be  clever  these  days. 

''Barbara,  change  your  mind  and  come  to  your 
obedient  ■  Emperor." 

Barbara  smiled  over  this  letter,  then  took  up  an- 
other, lying  in  her  lap  still  unopened.  It  had  come  that 
morning,  but  she  had  deferred  the  reading  of  it  until 
every  household  duty  had  been  performed  with  un- 
usual care. 

She  thought  now  that  she  would  take  a  little  walk 
as  far  as  the  woods,  on  the  edge  of  the  campus,  and 
in  their  shelter  read  the  first  letter  she  had  ever  had 
from  him. 

It  was  the  third  of  July.  Just  three  weeks  ago  he 
had  been  summoned  to  New  York ;  only  three  weeks,  but 
with  their  burden  of  revelation  they  seemed  like  the 
womb  of  eternity.  The  days,  dragging  their  length  of 
summer  light  along,  had  seemed  endless  to  her ;  the  short 
nights  too  short  to  quiet  pain.  Out  of  this  malady  one 
sane,  clear  thought  emerged.  She  knew  that  she  loved 
him  too  well  to  see  much  of  him.  The  veil  of  idealism, 
shimmering  and  deluding  as  it  was,  could  no  longer  hide 
the  naked  form  of  fact.  The  dream  of  unrealized  ro- 
mance was  neither  safe  nor  true.  They  could  not  com- 
mit themselves  to  God,  and  then  play  like  children  on 
the  edge  of  the  gulf.  God's  omnipotence  did  not  extend 
to  lovers. 

She  tore  herself  with  facts  as  with  knives.  Her  hus- 
band's playful  reproach  of  her  being  over-conscientious, 
if  it  had  shown  her  nothing  else,  had  shown  her  his  utter 

313 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

innocence  of  the  situation.  All  the  honor  of  her  nature 
rose  to  meet  the  obligation  of  his  ignorance.  He  should 
indeed  be  safe  in  her  hands.  Through  the  misery  of  these 
#days  she  ministered  to  him  with  remorseful  tenderness. 

She  had  fully  made  "up  her  mind  that  she  would  see 
as  little  as  possible  of  Waring  during  his  term  in  the 
summer-school.  She  would  see  him  always  in  her  hus- 
band's presence.  The  ultimate  step  of  leaving  him  and 
Hallworth  altogether  for  these  few  weeks  she  could  not 
bring  herself  to  take.  She  told  herself  that  that  was 
cowardice;  that  the  highest  duty  was  to  submit  to  the 
severest  temptation;  that  the  soundest  goodness  was 
born  of  holding  one's  ground.  The  subtle  logic  of  her 
lingering  escaped  her. 

Leaving  word  with  Mehitabel  where  she  was  going, 
she  set  out  on  her  walk  across  the  campus.  The  noon 
heat  rising  from  the  ground,  with  a  heavy  odor  of  warm 
grass  and  earth,  beat  against  her  face. 

The  American  summer  was  in  full  possession  of  the 
broad  lawns,  the  trees  burdened  with  foliage,  the  lifeless 
buildings  baking  under  the  direct  noon  rays,  suggestive 
of  dusty  books,  and  close,  shut  up  laboratories,  with  big 
flies  knocking  against  the  unwashed  windows.  Barbara 
thought  that  even  the  summer-school  could  not  break  the 
deepness  of  the  torpor. 

The  green  wood  received  her  with  caresses  of  cool 
shadow,  and  hidden  music  from  the  deep-bedded  stream. 
A  draught  of  cooler  air  was  wafted  up  from  the  ravine. 
On  the  rude  bench  between  two  trees  she  seated  herself, 
but  she  did  not  at  once  open  her  letter,  delighting  to 
prolong  expectancy.  She  was  almost  afraid  to  open  it, 
lest  it  should  disappoint  her.    Yet  what  could  he  say  ? 

314 


TWO   LETTERS 

The  good  moment  came  at  last. 

1 '  Dear  Mrs.  Penf old, ' '  it  ran. 

"Since  I  came  to  New  York  I  have  been  so  rushed 
that  I  have  not  had  time  to  send  a  line  of  apology  to  you 
for  leaving  so  abruptly  commencement  evening.  The 
telegram  was  unnecessarily  urgent. 

"I  was  with  my  father's  brother  a  week  before  he 
died.  He  was  almost  a  stranger  to  me,  for  he  had  lived 
nearly  all  his  life  abroad;  but  in  those  last  days  some- 
thing—the sense  of  kinship  perhaps,  or  our  common 
loneliness— drew  us  together.  It  was  a  strange  friend- 
ship, made  so  near  the  confines. 

"I  am  coming  back  to  the  place  I  love  and  shall  al- 
ways love  better  than  any  on  earth— Hallworth.  It  will 
be  good  to  go  to  work  again.  I  have  much  more  to  tell 
you  about  these  three  weeks— that  is,  if  you  care  to  hear ; 
but  I  shall  wait  until  I  see  you. 

' ' '  Always  faithfully  yours, 

"Richard  Waring/ ' 

She  put  the  letter  down,  contented.  She  might  show 
it  to  the  world  of  Hallworth,  yet  something  thrilled 
through  the  words  to  which  she  only  was  the  answer- 
ing chord.  "Our  common  loneliness!"  How  glad  she 
was  that  he  was  lonely,  surrounded  though  he  seemed 
£o  be  with  friends ! 

A  thought  oppressed  her.  Her  emotion  seemed  to 
her  changeless,  final.  His  might  be  transitory.  "What 
if  he  should ! 

She  checked  herself.  She  had  no  right  to  think  of 
him  at  all  as  belonging  to  her.  Faithfulness  to  her  hus- 
band must  begin  in  her  heart.    She  could  not  make  the 

315 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

blamelessness  of  her  outward  life  a  balance  on  the  moral 
page  for  inner  sin. 

Bitterness  welled  in  her.  First  love  came  to  the  ma- 
jority of  women  attended  by  innocence  and  candor. 
They  could  show  how  glad  they  were. 

She  wondered  what  wrong-doing  of  the  prenatal  past, 
the  dim  past  which  held  her  progenitors,  was  being 
atoned  for  in  this  her  misery  of  defrauded  life.  Had 
some  ancestor  gone  gaily  along  the  primrose  path,  that 
she  should  never  pick  a  primrose.  She  remembered 
their  austere  portraits,  lining  the  hall  in  her  old  home, 
but  could  not  find  the  guilty  one  among  them.  They 
had  all  fallen  on  sleep,  serving  God  in  their  generation, 
serving  Him,  if  the  expression  of  their  stern  faces  might 
be  trusted,  with  fear,  not  love.  Perhaps  the  sorrow  of 
her  line  had  come  upon  her  in  this  guise,  rather  than  in 
bitter  wrestlings  with  a  God  reluctant  to  bless. 

She  longed  for  her  uncle.  He  might  tell  her  what 
had  happened  to  him,  and  how  he  had  met  his  problem. 
Looking  back  now,  she  knew  that  it  had  not  been  an 
altogether  normal  and  healthy  life  he  had  led.  Had 
his  mistakes  of  living  led  her  to  hers? 

What  was  the  use  of  wondering?    Her  duty  lay  clear 
before  her.    She  must  see  as  little  as  possible  of  Waring. 
The  letter  in  her  lap  came  to  her  from  one  dead. 
♦  "I  think  this  is  yours,  Mrs.  Penfold." 

She  looked  up  startled.  Perceval  was  standing  by 
her,  holding  the  envelope  of  her  letter  in  his  hand.  The 
breeze  had  blown  it  to  his  feet. 

She  thanked  him,  blushing.  He  asked  her  permis- 
sion to  sit  down  beside  her,  and  she  made  room  for  him 
on  the  bench. 

316 


TWO   LETTERS 

"Have  you  been  taking  a  walk  this  hot  morning?" 
she  asked,  thinking  he  looked  tired. 

"To  some  one  ill  back  in  the  country.  Sickness  in 
the  height  of  summer  always  seems  unnatural  to  me, 
somehow.  You  feel  as  if  every  one  should  share  the 
abundant  life.    How  is  Dr.  Penfold!" 

"Very  well— very  busy,"  she  answered,  smiling 
faintly. 

The  address  on  the  envelope  had  stared  at  him  from 
the  ground.  He  recognized  Waring 's  hand.  Mrs.  Pen- 
fold's  look  of  abstraction,  her  blush,  told  him  much;  but, 
being  a  true  priest,  he  relegated  what  it  told  him  at 
once  to  his  storehouse  of  the  impersonal. 

But  he  had  been  too  unhappy  himself  these  last 
months  not  to  wish  to  make  others  as  happy  as  he  could, 
and  his  instinctive  desire  now  was  to  change  the  current 
of  Barbara's  thoughts,  whatever  they  were.  He  had  at- 
tended a  recent  diocesan  convention,  and  he  began  to 
speak  to  her,  not  of  its  proceedings,  but  of  the  little 
humorous  incidents  that  had  lightened  its  somewhat 
ponderous  atmosphere.  .  Barbara  listened  and  laughed, 
and  stole  glances  at  the  enigmatical  face  beside  her, 
which  held  at  once  the  priest's  ardor  and  the  man  of 
the  world's  indifference.  Did  two  souls  contend  for  the 
mastery  there! 

They  walked  back  together  across  the  campus.  Once 
Perceval  cast  a  quick,  eager  look  toward  the  gardens 
surrounding  Mrs.  Maturin's  house,  now  tenantless,  save 
for  the  caretakers.    She  herself  had  gone  abroad. 

Barbara  asked  him  if  he  would  take  lunch  with  them, 
but  he  declined  on  the  plea  of  early  afternoon  work. 
There  was  a  certain  sweetness,  a  certain  friendliness  in 

317 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

his  manner  toward  her  which,  though  in  its  essence  im- 
personal, made  her  feel  that  she  could  trust  htm.  She 
wanted  to  ask  him  why  duty  made  people  miserable. 

On  the  porch  she  found  her  husband,  signing  for  a 
telegram.  She  seated  herself  opposite  to  him  and  waited 
for  him  to  read  it. 

"It  is  from  Richard,"  he  explained,  "in  answer  to 
one  I  sent  yesterday  about  Schelling.  He  went  to  see 
him.    He  arrives  to-night,  I  'm  glad  to  say. ' ' 

1 '  Mr.  Waring  arrives ! ' ' 

1 '  Yes ;  he 's  going  to  help  me  with  the  book.  Schelling 
wants  it  by  September  instead  of  November.  I  'm  thank- 
ful Richard's  in  the  summer-school;  I  should  scarcely 
have  felt  justified  in  keeping  him  here  for  my  own 
benefit." 

"It  will  not  be— a  very  restful  summer  for  him— or 
for  you,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  no;  but  one  can  be  more  comfortable  in  one's 
own  home  than  anywhere  else." 

"But  Mr.  Waring 's  not  in  his  own  home." 

"Why  not  take  him  in?"  her  husband  said.  "The 
guest-room  is  there.     Mehitabel  likes  him." 

Barbara  sat  up  straight,  her  face  full  of  her  ill- 
concealed  alarm. 

"Oh,  no,  no!  That  couldn't  be!"  she  said  hastily. 
"He  mustn't  come  here.  He— he  wouldn't  like  to  give 
up  his  independence!" 

Her  husband  looked  at  her  with  some  surprise,  but 
he  thought  that  she  dreaded  the  responsibility  of  a  two 
months  ''guest  in  the  height  of  summer. 

"Perhaps  you  are  right.  He  might  think  I  was 
chaining  him  to  the  book." 

318 


TWO    LETTERS 

<'The  ex-President's  house  is  so  large  it  must  be 
cool.  He'd  be  far  more  comfortable  there  than  in  our 
little  rooms. ' ' 

She  spoke  with  apprehensive  insistence,  as  if  afraid 
the  matter  were  not  settled.  Her  husband  looked  at  her 
intently. 

"What  are  your  plans  for  the  summer,  my  dear? 
Should  you  not  go  away  for  a  few  weeks  to  the  shore 
or  to  the  mountains?  Isn't  that  what  society  people 
do  ? "  he  added  playfully.  ' '  And  you  are  now  launched 
in  society." 

■ '  Do  you  want  me  to  go ! " 

' '  I  want  you  to  do  whatever  pleases  you  most. ' ' 

If  he  would  only  once  command  her !  It  would  make 
it  so  much  easier !  The  woman  whose  husband  beat  and 
abused  her  must  be  more  a  part  of  that  husband's  life, 
she  thought,  than  she  was  of  this  gentle  mathematician 's, 
whose  continued  wish  that  she  should  please  herself 
seemed  to  imply  that  he  had  no  real  need  of  her. 

' '  But  wouldn  't  you  be  more  comfortable  if  I  stayed— 
wouldn't  you  like  it  better?" 

He  pondered. 

"I  should  not  wish  to  sacrifice  you  to  my  comfort, 
my  dear,  and  Mehitabel  is  always  faithful." 

"I  sometimes  wish  she'd  leave!" 

He  looked  pleased. 

"Oh,  my  dear,"  he  said,  with  a  little  laugh;  "if  you 
knew  what  some  of  the  people  go  through  on  this  cam- 
pus. ' ' 

"Of  course  I  didn't  mean  it.     But  I  can't  be  less 
faithful  than  she  is,"  she   answered,   a   flush  stealing 
into  her  cheeks.    ' '  And  I  don 't  want  to  go  away ! ' ' 
21  319 


THE    LAW    OF    LIFE 

He  smiled  at  her  vehemence. 

"And  I  don't  want  you  to  go.    I  should  miss  you." 

His  words  were  balm  to  her  conscience.  She  would 
have  to  stay  now. 

The  day  grew  very  hot.  When  afternoon  came  she 
stretched  herself  upon  the  bed,  and  lay  there,  not  sleep- 
ing, but  staring  into  the  twilight,  oppressed,  restless,  as 
if  under  the  burden  of  coming  storm.  She  wondered  if 
Waring  would  arrive  on  the  five  o'clock  express,  and  if 
he  would  come  to  the  house  that  evening,  and  what  she 
should  wear.  She  told  herself  she  would  put  on  the 
plainest  dress  she  had.  Then  she  said  she  should  not  see 
him  at  all. 

Waring,  meanwhile,  was  looking  from  the  windows 
of  the  Pullman  upon  the  shimmering  landscape,  flying 
past  him  toward  New  York.  Fields,  valleys,  hills,  and 
at  last  the  azure  mountains  had  appeared  in  these  elusive 
vistas.  Between  his  eyes  and  the  endless  procession  Bar- 
bara's face  was  always  present,  the  pale,  sweet  oval; 
the  deep  gray  eyes,  the  sensitive  mouth,  the  dark  crown 
of  soft  hair.  To  love  anything  as  beautiful  as  her  soul 
could  not  be  sin,  he  told  himself. 

The  strangest  scene  of  these  strange  weeks  rose  be- 
fore him.-  A  small  bed-room  in  a  quiet  club-house  on  an 
old-fashioned  New  York  square;  his  uncle  lying  in  the 
narrow  bed,  in  the  peace  after  suffering  which  sometimes 
precedes  death;  the  high-bred  face,  not  unmarked  by 
lines  of  a  somewhat  sardonic  humor,  turned  question- 
ingly  to  his. 

"Richard,  you've  told  me  a  good  many  things  these 
days;  you  have  not  told  me  if  you're  going  to  be  mar- 
ried." 

320 


TWO    LETTERS 

"No." 

"Are  you  going  to  let  the  name  die  with  you?  You 
are  the  last  of  the  house.    You  should  marry." 

A  longing  had  seized  the  young  man  then  to  reverse 
the  accepted  order,  not  to  hear  a  death-bed  confession, 
but  to  confess  to  one  about  to  die. 

"Uncle  Frederick,  I  do  not  want  to  marry,  because 
I  love  with  all  my  heart  a  married  woman. ' ' 

The  gray-haired  man  had  smiled. 

"You'll  get  over  it.  It  doesn't  pay.  I'm  glad 
you  have  no  deeper  reason  for  keeping  out  of  mar- 
riage. ' ' 

The  humorous  lines  came  out  on  the  face  dully  even 
from  suffering.  Waring,  thrown  back  on  himself,  spent 
the  rest  of  the  day  reading  Thackeray  aloud  to  the 
dying  man. 

But  he  had  learned  one  lesson— that  in  future  he 
must  behave  toward  Barbara  like  a  man  of  the  world. 
He  had  relied  too  much  on  Hallworth's  exemptness  from 
worldly  standards  in  his  chivalrous  attendance  upon 
Mrs.  Penfold.  He  must  protect  her  now  not  only  from 
himself  but  from  the  criticism  of  the  University. 

In  the  suspended  mood  induced  by  travel  this  seemed 
easy  to  do;  but  when  he  stepped  from  the  train  the 
spirit  of  the  place  possessed  him  like  a  mistress.  His 
resolution  not  to  go  that  night  to  Dr.  Penfold 's  was 
already  weakening. 

He  dressed  as  carefully  for  his  call  as  if  he  were 
going  to  a  dance.  About  nine  o'clock,  when  the  summer 
twilight  had  become  warm,  still  night,  he  turned  into  the 
garden-path  leading  to  the  little  house.     His  heart  was 

321 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

beating  rapidly.  He  looked  for  the  shimmer  of  a  white 
dress  on  the  porch  behind  the  vine  screen. 

But  Barbara  was  not  there. 

Mehitabel  answered  his  ring.  He  sent  up  his  name, 
saying  he  would  wait  outside.  In  a  few  moments  Dr. 
Penfold  came  down  to  him,  eager  with  the  genuine 
warmth  of  his  welcome,  and  his  desire  to  hear  at  length 
the  reasons  for  Schelling's  decision.  Waring  told  him 
patiently  all  he  could,  his  ears  strained  for  some  sound 
within  the  house  which  would  tell  him  of  Barbara's 
presence  there.  From  the  publication  of  the  book  Dr. 
Penfold  went  back  to  the  book  itself.  Waring  sum- 
moned all  his  courtesy  to  listen  with  seeming  interest, 
but  in  a  pause  his  impatience  mastered  him. 

1 '  How  is  Mrs.  Penfold  V '  he  asked  abruptly. 

"Quite  well,  thank  you.  We'll  go  over  the  work  on 
the  evenings  that  you  can  spare,  and  examine  together 
the  results  I  arrive  at  alone." 

The  sentence  closed  in  on  him  like  a  trap-door. 

He  tormented  himself  with  questions.  Had  Dr.  Pen- 
fold  shown  her  the  telegram?  Did  she  know  he  was 
there  ?  Had  something  happened  in  his  absence  to  shake 
her  trust  of  him  ?  Like  all  lovers  he  regarded  time  and 
space  as  his  mortal  enemies.  They  who  tread  the  boun- 
daries of  the  eternal  have  good  reason  to  look  with  sus- 
picion upon  the  finite. 

Eleven  o'clock  was  striking  when  Dr.  Penfold  re- 
leased him  from  the  book.  As  a  substitute  for  Barbara 
it  was  monstrous.  Why  had  she  treated  him  so?  The 
sphinx-like  darkness  of  the  house  he  was  leaving  gave 
him  no  answer.  The  dreariness  of  his  own  dwelling  he 
had  no  desire  to  face.    For  weeks  the  tapestried  story  of 

322 


TWO   LETTERS 

David  and  Bathsheba  on  the  walls  of  his  sitting-room 
had  made  work  there  difficult.  To  quiet  his  spirit  he  set 
out  on  a  long  cross-country  walk  which  lasted  until  the 
twilight  of  dawn.  Then,  thoroughly  worn  out,  he  sought 
his  bed,  and  the  opiate  of  deep,  dreamless  sleep. 


323 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

"the  loneliness  of  stately  ways." 

Barbara  came  down  to  the  breakfast-table  looking 
tired.  The  strain  of  the  vigil  in  her  room  during  War- 
ing's  call  and  long  after  into  the  night  had  robbed  the 
new  day  of  all  freshness.  It  would  be  hot  and  long  like 
all  the  days  to  come— days  arid  with  denial. 

Her  husband's  munching  of  his  toast  irritated  her, 
but  she  smothered  her  irritation,  bringing  to  the  task 
enough  vital  force  to  enarmor  a  St.  Anthony. 

She  longed  to  ask  about  Waring;  to  learn  if  he  had 
inquired  for  her;  but  the  simple  question  appalled  her 
with  its  Brobdingnagian  quality.  It  would  fill  the  room, 
press  out  the  walls  of  the  house. 

At  last  she  ventured,  her  voice  sounding  to  her  like 
the  voice  of  some  one  else. 

"Mr.  Waring  was  here  last  night?" 

"Yes;  he  came  straight  to  me,  like  a  good  fellow, 
with  his  report  of  Schelling." 

He  went  on  to  tell  her,  between  sips  of  coffee  and 
spoonfuls  of  eggy  the  whole  of  the  matter. 

Barbara,  listening,  tried  in  vain  to  catch  a  glimpse 
of  Waring  through  this  thicket  of  business  details  and 
mathematical  schemes.  His  strong,  clear-cut  face,  with 
its  beautiful  eyes,  seemed  to  have  receded  to  a  far  dis- 
tance. 

The  morning  dragged.  By  the  middle  of  the  after- 
324 


"THE  LONELINESS   OF   STATELY  WAYS" 

noon  the  house  became  a  prison.  She  went  to  the  study 
door. 

"I  am  going  down  to  the  lake  to  row.  I  want  some 
exercise. ' ' 

' '  In  all  this  heat,  my  dear  ? ' ' 

' '  It  will  not  be  hot  on  the  lake. ! ' 

The  blue  surface,  stretching  far  away  to  the  north, 
released  her  spirit.  From  the  time  of  her  childhood, 
when  she  had  sought  instinctively  a  hilltop  as  the  best 
place  on  which  to  get  over  being  naughty,  distance  had 
always  calmed  her.  The  labor  of  rowing  gave  an  outlet 
to  her  mordant  energy.  She  made  the  boat  fly  like  a 
hunted  thing  over  the  calm  water. 

She  kept  to  the  middle  of  the  lake,  to  avoid  observa- 
tion from  the  summer  cottages  lining  the  shores.  Her 
pent-up  feeling  served  the  place  of  strength.  When  fa- 
tigue at  last  overcame  her  she  had  rowed  eight  miles  or 
more.  She  rested  on  her  oars,  and,  looking  about  her, 
found  that  she  was  directly  opposite  the  opening  of  a 
deep  and  wide  ravine  whose  stream  emptied  into  the 
lake.  She  had  visited  it  more  than  once,  its  dangers 
having  a  certain  fascination  for  her.  Midway  of  its 
length  a  precipice  divided  it,  and  at  the  sides  of  the 
waterfall  thus  formed  the  black  cliffs  hung  sheer  four 
hundred  feet  above  the  stream.  Nor  did  its  terrors  end 
at  the  lake.  She  had  been  told  that  a  few  feet  from  the 
shore  another  precipice  plunged  down  to  a  depth  of  more 
than  a  thousand  feet.  Over  this  gulf  her  little  boat  was 
rocking. 

She  leaned  and  gazed  into  the  dark,  impenetrable 
water.    Bodies  that  went  down  at  that  point  were  never 

325 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

found.  Did  some  current  carry  them  through  deep 
holes  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth?  Terror  seized  her. 
What  if  madness  should  come  upon  her  and  she  should 
jump  t  Grasping  her  oars  she  turned  her  boat  and  headed 
it  for  a  point  on  the  shore  some  distance  down.  Cot- 
tages were  there.  She  longed  for  the  sight  of  people, 
for  the  sound  of  human  voices. 

She  found  that  her  arms  were  weak  and  nerveless, 
and  she  must,  perforce,  row  slowly.  The  boat  seemed 
to  creep  along  as  if  reluctant  to  leave  the  place. 

But  at  last  she  drew  near  the  cottages.  She  could  see 
the  people  on  the  porches ;  in  their  hammocks  under  the 
trees.  Her  courage  rose.  She  wondered  if  her  nerves 
were  in  a  bad  way  that  such  a  silly  fear  should  overcome 
her. 

But  she  still  kept  close  to  the  shore,  though  it  added 
length  to  the  home  journey.  For  her  fatigue  she  was 
grateful.    It  kept  her  from  thinking. 

Within  two  miles  of  the  lighthouse  she  saw  a  boat 
approaching,  a  man  and  a  woman  in  it.  As  it  drew 
nearer  her  heart  leaped;  her  hands  grew  cold.  Waring 
had  the  oars.  In  the  stern  of  the  boat  Mrs.  Joyce 
perched  like  a  white  butterfly. 

A  pang  of  jealous  anguish  pierced  her.  Her  first 
clear  thought  was  of  escape.  Conscious  of  her  fagged 
look,  of  the  perspiration  on  her  face,  of  her  limp  shirt- 
waist devoid  of  its  collar  and  turned  in  at  the  throat, 
she  could  not  bear  to  come  into  juxtaposition  with  Mrs. 
Joyce,  cool  and  complacent  in  her  summer  afternoon 
bravery.  She  was  about  to  head  her  boat  for  the  shore 
again  when  she  saw  that  Waring  had  recognized  her 
and  was  plying  his  oars  vigorously  to  come  alongside. 

326 


"THE  LONELINESS   OF   STATELY  WAYS" 

Then  she  drew  her  own  oars  up,  and  put  her  hands 
to  her  hair  matted  on  her  brow,  and  knotted  her  hand- 
kerchief about  her  throat. 

1 '  Mrs.  Penf old,  you  certainly  believe  in  the  strenuous 
life, ' '  Mrs.  Joyce 's  airy  voice  challenged  her.  ' '  Are  you 
so  fond  of  rowing  alone !  ■  - 

Waring  was  gazing  at  her  with  a  look  of  concern  and 
wistfulness  that  hurt  her,  made  her  long  to  escape.  She 
felt  for  her  oars. 

"Mrs.  Penf  old,"  he  said  quietly,  "come  into  our  boat 
or  let  me  fasten  yours  to  ours.  You  look  tired.  You 
must  have  been  too  far. ' ' 

"I  have  been  as  far  as  Deepdale  Ravine,"  she  said; 
"but  I  am  not  tired." 

She  smiled  at  him,  but  he  did  not  answer  her  smile. 
His  face  was  anxious,  abstracted. 

1  *  But  you  are  tired.  Twelve  miles  in  this  heat  means 
work,"  he  said. 

Mrs.  Joyce  interposed.  She  had  no  intention  of  hav- 
ing her  plans  for  the  afternoon  spoiled. 

"Mrs.  Penf  old's  pallor  is  very  becoming.  I  should 
be  a  fright  if  I  had  rowed  to  Deepdale.  You  must  al- 
ways let  a  woman  have  her  way,  Dicky." 

"Indeed,  I  am  quite  able  to  get  back,"  Barbara  said, 
already  bending  to  her  oars.  The  nickname  had  cut  her 
like  a  whip  across  the  cheek. 

She  smiled  and  nodded  to  them  as  she  made  good  her 
retreat.  Pride,  not  strength  or  skill,  directed  the  clean- 
cut  strokes.  In  a  few  moments  she  was  out  of  hearing 
distance. 

Rage  filled  Waring.  Mrs.  Joyce  had  met  him  on  the 
main  street ;  had  demanded  of  him  that  he  row  her  down 

327 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

to  the  Esmonds'  cottage  to  make  a  call.  Yet  Barbara 
must  think  that  he  had  deliberately  invited  this  woman 
to  go  with  him  on  the  lake.  He  was  so  afraid  that  he 
would  show  his  feelings  that  his  absorption  in  her  be- 
came every  minute  more  elaborate.  Light  jest  and  ban- 
ter and  innocuous  gossip  passed  between  them.  Mrs. 
Joyce 's  triumph  seemed  to  herself  complete. 

Barbara,  making  for  the  lighthouse,  felt  as  if  she 
were  dragging  all  the  drowned  after  her,  so  heavy  was 
the  boat.  Distrust  of  him  filled  her.  What  if  he  were 
only  a  clever  actor  who  had  amused  himself  through  the 
winter  with  an  unsophisticated  woman  ?  All  his  life  he 
had  played  with  romance,  if  Hallworth's  traditionary 
gossip  was  to  be  trusted.  Stories  she  had  heard  of  him 
during  his  freshman  year  came  back  to  her.  There  was 
nothing  derogatory  in  them,  chiefly  amusing  accounts  of 
the  efforts  of  undergraduates  to  discover  the  particular 
in  the  general,  the  personal  in  the  impersonal,  Waring's 
heart  beneath  Waring's  monotonously  impartial  chiv- 
alry. Now  these  tales  became  significant.  Had  she  been 
so  young,  so  inexperienced,  so  lacking  in  astuteness  that 
she  interpreted  a  winter's  courtesy  to  mean  love?  Was 
she  so  eager  for  romance  that  she  caught  at  it  as  a  baby 
chasing  sunbeams?  The  unpardonable  sin  of  mistaking 
Waring's  attitude  toward  her  swallowed  up  the  sin  of 
loving. 

Yet  she  remembered  certain  words,  certain  accents  of 
his,  which  seemed  to  claim  her  whether  she  would  or 
no.  The  baptismal  "  Barbara, "  uttered  in  the  depths  of 
the  wood,  she  could  no  more  undo  than  a  sacrament. 

But  the  near  moment  obscured  the  past.  She  was 
328 


"THE   LONELINESS   OF   STATELY   WAYS" 

bowed  under  the  weight  of  the  most  tragic  mistake  a 
woman  can  make,  a  weight  heavy  enough  to  crush  out 
even  the  emotion  of  shame. 

She  brought  her  boat  to  the  little  harbor,  where  other 
boats  rocked  at  their  moorings.  Their  owner,  an  old 
fisherman,  looked  at  her  as  he  helped  her  to  land. 

"Not  to  be  presumin',  Mrs.  Penfold,  wouldn't  a  cup 
of  tea  help  you  out  before  goin'  up  hill!  My  wife '11 
make  you  one  in  a  minute.  You  look, like  you've  rowed 
too  far." 

Barbara  thanked  him,  but  said  no.  She  had  but  one 
thought  now— to  get  in  out  of  the  light  and  heat. 

Mehitabel  met  her  with  the  amazing  intelligence  that 
Dr.  Penfold  had  gone  out  to  dine  with  some  members 
of  the  Faculty  whose  wives  were  away.  She  was  glad 
to  have  the  house  to  herself.  The  strain  of  sitting 
through  dinner  had  wearied  her  in  the  prospect. 

The  old  servant,  perceiving  her  pallor  and  weariness, 
brought  her  tea  and  fixed  her  bath  for  her.  Barbara 
gave  herself  up  to  her  ministrations  gratefully.  But 
with  the  first  relief  to  the  tired  body  the  mind  again  be- 
gan its  torment.  Out  of  her  confusions  one  thought  at 
last  emerged.  She  would  not  be  the  wounded  and  baffled 
woman.  For  the  rest  of  the  summer,  for  the  rest  of  life, 
perhaps,  she  would  play  the  part  of  the  great  lady.  She 
thanked  God  that  no  betraying  word  had  ever  escaped 
her,  whatever  tell-tale  emotion  had  looked  from  her  eyes. 
She  should  treat  him  with  friendliness,  but  with  dignity, 
making  herself  mistress  of  the  art  of  concealment. 

To  act  a  part  was  to  marry  tragedy,  but  pride  should 
sustain  her.  It  brought  her  to  her  feet  now  and  sent 
her  to  her  mirror.    The  long  and  elaborate  toilet  that  she 

329 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

made  had  one  central  purpose,  to  obliterate  the  ravages 
of  the  afternoon.  At  last  she  stood  full-dressed,  em- 
bodied summer  daintiness.  She  had  chosen  a  diaphanous 
gown  of  white,  delicately  embroidered  with  little  white 
silk  roses.  A  white  rosette  was  in  her  dark  hair.  For 
her  touch  of  color  she  put  about  her  neck  the  turquoises 
which  had  been  her  husband's  wedding  gift.  If  Waring 
should  come  the  gown  should  tell  him  how  happy  she 
was,  and  her  eyes  would  confirm  its  testimony.  He  must 
know  she  had  been  happy  without  him,  could  be  happy 
without  him  always. 

She  was  almost  sure  that  he  would  come.  She  had 
not  long  to  wait.  Mehitabel  came  up  with  his  card,  say- 
ing that  he  had  asked  for  her,  not  Dr.  Penfold. 

He  was  standing  by  the  fireplace  in  the  hall  when  she 
descended  the  stairs.  As  he  heard  the  rustle  of  her 
skirts  he  raised  his  head,  and  the  light  fell  full  upon  his 
face.  What  she  saw  there  made  her  mistrust  seem  for 
a  moment  monstrous ;  but  she  beat  back  the  thought,  and 
it  was  as  the  great  lady  of  her  intention,  not  as  a  friend, 
that  she  greeted  him. 

"I  am  very  sorry  Dr.  Penfold  is  out.  Some  bachelor 
husbands  carried  him  off  to  dine,  by  a  miracle  of  which 
I  am  ignorant.  But  I  presume  he'll  be  back  before 
long." 

Waring  looked  at  her  with  troubled  eyes.  Why 
should  she  greet  him  so?  Her  budding  beauty,  height- 
ened by  the  festal  character  of  her  white  dress,  put  her 
at  a  far  enough  distance  from  him  without  this  most 
courteous  coldness. 

"I  did  not  come  to  see  Dr.  Penfold.  I  came  to  see 
you,"  he  said,  adding,  "did  you  get  my  letter?" 

330 


"THE  LONELINESS   OF   STATELY  WAYS" 

"Yes;  it  came  in  the  same  mail  with  one  from  the 
Emperor  that  I  laughed  over;  it  was  so  characteristic 
of  her.    Shall  we  sit  on  the  porch  ¥ ' ' 

She  turned  on  the  electric  light  which  hung  from  the 
centre  of  the  porch  roof.  Waring,  feeling  miserable, 
seated  himself  in  its  glare  and  waited  for  her  to  speak, 
which  she  did  promptly. 

"Tell  me  about  your  trip  to  New  York.  I  hear  that 
you  have  come  into  a  fortune. ' ' 

He  did  not  answer  her  smile. 

"No;  only  a  legacy.  The  estate  proved  to  be  very 
small.  But  all  my  uncle's  books  and  curios  were  left  to 
me— things  he  had  picked  up  abroad  mostly.  I  think  I 
shall  have  to  have  a  house  now  to  put  them  in.  ■ ' 

"At  Hallworth?" 

Her  voice  was  not  quite  under  her  control,  but  she 
met  his  eyes  bravely. 

"Nowhere  else." 

"I  had  a  good  time  last  winter,"  she  said  airily; 
"but  I'm  afraid  I  should  want  something  more  after  a 
while.  You  want  to  meet  new  people— see  something 
more  cosmopolitan." 

If  Waring  had  been  in  a  humorous  mood  he  would 
have  smiled— Barbara  longing  for  the  cosmopolitan! 
She  had  always  seemed  a  child  of  nature  to  him.  Yet 
he  was  not  so  sure,  measuring  her  by  her  growth  of  last 
winter,  that  she  would  not  eventually  turn  into  a  woman 
of  the  world;  at  the  loss  perhaps  of  what  was  dearest  to 
him  in  her  character.  This  new  mood  of  hers  hurt  him, 
deepened  his  loneliness.  He  longed  to  break  through  the 
shining  brittle  barrier  and  ask  her  to  be  her  dear,  simple 
self;  to  trust  him  enough  for  that.    Two  principles  with- 

331 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

held   him— loyalty  to  Dr.   Penfold,   loyalty  to  silence. 
If  he  spoke  he  might  be  lost. 

Barbara,  like  other  novices,  was  in  danger  of  over- 
acting her  part.  Feeling  this,  she  attempted  to  steer  a 
middle  course,  and  landed  in  a  swamp  of  commonplaces. 
Then  she  feared  lest  he  should  find  her  dull.  She  must 
not  play  the  great  lady  at  the  expense  of  boring  him. 

But  there  was  no  look  of  such  dreary  issues  in  his 
face,  repressed,  gentle. 

"Did  you  enjoy  your  row  this  afternoon?"  she  asked. 

"No." 

Her  castle  of  social  art  went  down  like  a  bubble  be- 
fore the  monosyllable. 

"That  isn't  kind  to  Mrs.  Joyce,"  she  said. 

The  old,  sweet,  childlike  reproach  in  her  voice  sent 
a  thrill  through  him,  made  him  reckless. 

"I  do  not  care." 

"But  you— you  should  say  you  enjoyed  it." 

His  smile,  pleading,  beautiful,  imprisoned  her. 

"But  you— you  shouldn't  ask  a  lady  to  go  rowing— 
unless  you  can  enjoy  it." 

"I  didn't  ask  her.    She  asked  me." 

"She  asked  you?" 

"Does  that  astonish  you?  You  know  how  recklessly 
Mrs.  Joyce  bestows  her  favors." 

Barbara  laughed,  a  laugh  so  happy  that  for  a  mo- 
ment his  bliss  was  robbed  of  sin. 

She  babbled  on  like  a  brook  released  by  spring.  She 
felt  too  happy  to  be  conscious  of  wrong-doing. 

"You  will  go  for  a  row  with  me  to-morrow?" 

"To  have  you  tell  some  one  later  that  you  didn't 
enjoy  it— at  least  you  can't  say  that  I  asked  you!" 

332 


'  'THE  LONELINESS  OF  STATELY  WAYS" 

"If  I  don't  enjoy  it  I  promise  to  tell  no  one  but 
you." 

So  they  tilted,  the  barren  land  of  tragedy  left  far 
behind,  a  fairy  play-land  opening  before  them.  They 
would  ward  off  danger  with  a  laugh.  Barbara  was 
realizing  that  if  it  were  not  safe  to  be  with  him  on 
the  old  friendly  footing,  it  was  more  perilous  to  shut 
him  out  of  her  life.  To  be  unhappy,  to  know  such  mis- 
ery as  had  closed  in  upon  her  that  afternoon,  to  know 
the  loneliness  of  stately  ways,  was  to  come  too  near  to 
sin. 


333 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

"the  protection  of  joy." 

Both  committed  themselves  to  the  protection  of  joy. 

To  Barbara  the  days  that  followed  were  dreamlike. 
She  awoke  each  morning  with  new  and  charming 
thoughts  of  life,  with  keener  capacity  for  worship,  with 
human  longings  more  tender.  She  loved  the  whole  uni- 
verse and  blessed  God  for  her  existence. 

Waring  refused  to  think  at  all,  giving  himself  up  to 
the  first  deep  emotion  of  his  life.  That  he  might  pay 
the  debt  later  was  an  affair  of  to-morrow.  Like  the 
great  saints,  the  great  sinners,  he  lived  in  the  present, 
dividing  his  days  between  work  and  love.  Dr.  Penfold, 
under  the  full  fascination  of  his  new  labors,  sometimes 
remained  at  his  desk  until  the  dawn  stole  in.  Waring 
shared  these  vigils,  conscious  always  of  Barbara's  pres- 
ence in  the  house,  and  going  home  at  last  through  the 
early  light  half-dazed  with  this  union  of  romance  and 
severe  intellectual  labor. 

They  were  seldom  alone  together,  but  this  very  pri- 
vation satisfied  conscience  for  the  time  being.  Both  went 
through  these  brilliant  summer  days  softly,  lest  they 
should  waken  something  sleeping. 

Barbara  believed  herself  to  be  living  on  the  heights, 
in  a  kind  of  superhuman  exemptness  from  the  more 
earthly  phases  of  love.  To  her  quickened  imagination 
the  medieval  tales  of  chivalry  now  seemed  possible;  the 
knight  serving  his  lady  with  remote  but  none  the  less 

331 


"THE    PROTECTION    OF    JOY" 

fervent  devotion;  she  a  habitant  of  the  spiritual  plane, 
4 *  enskyed  and  sainted. ' ' 

Her  awakening  from  this  impossible  dream  came 
through  the  medium  of  a  gift  from  Waring,  the  Celtic 
poet  in  a  dress  of  white  vellum,  with  shamrock  leaves 
curiously  interwoven  about  the  title.  Within  was  her 
own  name  in  quaint  lettering,  surrounded  by  a  wreath 
of  ivy  and  violets,  delicately  hand-painted— a  sumptuous 
present,  eloquent  in  every  detail  of  "its  significance  to 
her  alone.  He  had  slipped  it  into  her  hand  as  she  passed 
him  in  the  hall,  hurrying  on  lest  she  should  thank 
him. 

At  the  first  opportunity  she  had  taken  it  to  her  hus- 
band, showing  it  to  him  as  Waring 's  gift,  and  consci- 
entiously drawing  attention  to  its  beauties. 

"You  see  the  little  wreath  inside  is  hand-painted," 
she  had  said,  resolute  in  exposing  its  full  preciousness. 

"Why,  that's  a  beautiful  little  book,"  her  husband 
commented.  "Some  day,  my  dear,  when  I  have  a  mo- 
ment, you  must  introduce  me  to  its  contents.  I  know 
little  of  modern  poetry. ' ' 

Then  he  had  turned  to  his  work.  Barbara,  her  duty 
done,  carried  the  book  away  to  her  room,  and  pored  over 
the  poems  they  had  read  together.  It  was  scarcely  out 
of  her  hands  that  day.  She  went  to  sleep  that  night 
with  her  cheek  against  it. 

She  awoke  in  the  early  dawn,  her  hands  groping  for 
it,  her  heart  heavy.  The  little  gift,  so  personal  in  every 
detail,  had  broken  the  spell  of  her  deliberate  and  wilful 
innocence.     She  could  be  innocent  no  longer. 

She  lay  quiet  for  a  while,  the  book  pressed  against 
her  breast.  Then  horror  of  her  thoughts  seized  her. 
22  335 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

Rising,  she  knelt  by  the  bed,  praying  without  words, 
calling  upon  far-away  heaven  to  keep  her  from  the  grasp 
of  earth.  The  idealism  in  which  she  had  felt  herself  so 
safe  had  become  an  invisible  bridge  over  a  bottomless 
gulf.  The  rectitude  of  her  ancestors,  which,  descending 
to  her,  had  made  her  as  a  girl  face  the  bleakness  of  an 
unexplained  universe,  now  made  her  face  the  fact  that 
she  wanted  not  his  soul  alone,  but  his  lips,  his  touch. 

As  she  knelt,  shivering,  she  heard  the  sound  of  drag- 
ging voices  in  the  next  room,  as  of  two  people  tired  out, 
but  still  in  the  clutch  of  a  difficulty  which  like  a  ghost 
must  be  laid  before  morning.  Waring  was  still  there! 
Would  they  kill  him  between  them,  her  husband  with  the 
never-ending  labor,  she  with  her  restless  soul! 

On  her  knees  she  resolved  to  write  that  day  to  the 
Emperor,  to  tell  her  that  she  had  changed  her  mind, 
and  would  go  to  Maine  for  the  rest  of  the  summer. 

Her  resolution  calmed  her.  Her  thought  went  back 
to  him  to  say  farewell.  Seated  in  her  window,  hidden 
by  the  white  curtains,  she  watched  for  his  departure. 
His  book  lay  on  her  knees.  She  heard  him  leave  the 
house,  saw  him  go  slowly  along  the  deserted  walk,  his 
head  bowed,  as  if  he  were  lost  in  thought.  He  seemed 
unaware  of  the  morning  world  about  him. 

A  few  hours  later  she  was  sitting  on  the  porch,  a 
pretence  of  work  in  her  hands,  the  book  on  a  table  by 
her.  Nine  o'clock  was  striking  from  the  bell-tower  across 
the  campus,  but  centuries  seemed  to  have  elapsed  since 
that  morning  prayer  which  had  all  the  confusions  of 
midnight  in  it. 

Up-stairs  Dr.  Penfold  was  sleeping  peacefully.  She 
could  hear  Mehitabel  moving  about  the  house,  droning 

336 


"THE    PROTECTION    OF    JOY" 

an  endless  song  in  the  minor  key.  In  the  distance  sum- 
mer-school students  were  hurrying  to  lectures. 

Waring 's  work  came  in  the  afternoon.  She  could 
not  hope  to  see  him  until  evening.  Then  she  must  bid 
him  good-by. 

She  took  up  the  little  book.  It  must  never  lie  upon 
her  heart  again.    It  was  too  much  his. 

She  turned  the  pages  with  lingering  finger-tips.  Ivy 
and  violets— the  penitential  flower  and  the  immemorial 
vine— enwreathing  her  name.  What  did  he  mean  by 
these  symbols— renunciation,  eternal  love? 

A  familiar  step  on  the  garden-path  sent  the  blood  to 
her  heart.  He  was  coming  up  the  path,  a  gallant  figure 
in  irreproachable  summer  costume.  But  the  gallantry 
was  in  his  dress  and  bearing,  not  in  his  white,  tired 
face. 

His  eyes  lighted  when  he  saw  the  book  in  her  hands. 

''Why  aren't  you  in  your  bed?"  she  said,  fearful 
lest  her  voice  should  tremble.  "Mehitabel  tells  me  you 
were  cruelly  kept  here  until  after  three." 

He  smiled. 

"What  was  the  use  of  going  to  bed?  The  morning 
tempted  me,  so  I  went  for  a  walk  and  a  plunge  in  the 
upper  stream.     Then  I  felt  made  over." 

*  *  How  long  can  you  keep  up  such  strenuousness  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  the  work  is  nothing.  These  are  the  things  I 
mind." 

He  handed  her  a  letter.  It  was  from  a  Mrs.  Lev- 
erett,  of  New  York,  evidently  an  old  friend.  She  an- 
nounced that  she  and  her  daughter  would  stop  at 
Sparta  for  a  week  on  their  way  to  Canada.  "And  Alioe 
hopes  that  'Cousin  Richard'  will  not  be  too  formidable, 

337 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

too  learned.  Remember,  my  baby  is  just  out  of  a  Paris 
convent,  and  not  at  all  able  to  hold  her  own  with  the 
women  who  go  to  an  American  university.  But  she 
is  anxious  to  see  Hallworth.  You  will  be  good  to 
us?" 

The  thick  paper,  the  elaborate  monogram,  the  hand- 
writing suggested  strangeness  and  richness— richness 
less  of  possessions,  perhaps,  than  of  temperament.  Bar- 
bara, whipping  down  her  jealousy  of  the  unknown, 
looked  up  at  Waring  with  an  inquiring  smile. 

"Mrs.  Leverett  is  an  old  friend  of  my  father's  who 
has  always  been  good  enough  to  take  an  interest  in  me. 
The  daughter,  Alice,  was  in  the  nursery  when  I  last  saw 
her— a  pretty  little  thing.  Mrs.  Leverett 's  an  out-and- 
out  society  woman,  but  kind-hearted,  genuine."  He 
paused.  "I  confess  the  prospect  of  entertaining  them 
for  a  week  rather  appals  me." 

"It  is  hard  on  you  with  all  your  work.  My— Dr. 
Pen  fold  must  let  you  off  from  that  wretched  book. 
Have  you  made  any  plans?" 

"I'll  show  them  the  University— then  the  country 
'round,  the  lake,  the  ravines,  all  the  rest  of  it.  Could 
I— would  you— could  I  depend  on  you  to  help  me  a  lit- 
tle?" 

Her  resolution  faced  her,  but  the  appeal  in  his  voice 
was  irresistible. 

A  week  later  Mrs.  Joyce  hailed  her  on  the  campus, 
waving  a  pink  beruffled  parasol  like  an  audacious  rose. 

"Have  you  met  the  visitors?"  she  said  gaily. 
"Dicky's  friends?" 

"No,  I  have  not,"  Barbara  answered,  looking  her 
338 


"THE    PROTECTION    OF    JOY" 

in  the  eyes.  "I  was  to  have  called  on  them  yesterday, 
but  Mehitabel  was  suddenly  taken  ill,  and  I  stayed  home 
to  cook  the  dinner." 

"You  poor  youngster!  Why  didn't  you  send  for 
me !  I  'd  have  made  Dr.  Penf old  a  soup  that  would  have 
started  divorce  proceedings." 

She  had  been  amiable  of  late  to  Barbara,  convinced 
that  Waring  could  never  lose  his  heart  to  a  woman  igno- 
rant of  the  very  alphabet  of  enchantment. 

"But  I'm  going  on  the  picnic  to-night  if  Mehitabel 
is  better." 

"You  must.  I  want  you  to  see  that  girl.  She'd  ap- 
peal to  you  with  your  artistic  sense.  She  has  one  of 
those  pale,  oval  faces,  framed  in  hair  really  gold  and 
drawn  down  over  her  ears  a  la  Merode.  She  looks  like 
a  Madonna,  but  her  eyes  betray  her. ' ' 

"Why?" 

"They  are  full  of  witchery— and  she  knows  how  to 
use  them.  I  am  insanely  jealous.  Herbert  has  lost  his 
heart  to  her. ' ' 

She  rattled  on  maliciously,  watching  Barbara  as  a 
cat  would  a  mouse.  Barbara,  quite  conscious  of  the 
scrutiny  and  of  the  steel  under  the  velvet,  acted  with 
new  skill.  These  months  of  repressed  pain  had  taught 
her  how  to  wear  a  mask. 

When  Mrs.  Joyce  had  left  her  she  went  on  her  way, 
wretched,  yet  ashamed  of  her  wretchedness.  Two  selves 
seemed  always  present  in  her— the  self  who  felt  and 
acted ;  the  self  who  stood  apart  and  criticized  feeling  and 
action.  As  the  book  had  revealed  to  this  second  self 
the  fact  that  her  love  was  not  the  ideal,  supernal  emo- 
tion she  wished  it  to  be,  so  the  coming  of  Waring 's 

339 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

friends  had  shown  her  her  very  human  limitations.    She 
could  not  hide  from  herself  that  she  was  jealous. 

She  was  impatient  to  see  this  girl,  just  out  of  the  at- 
mosphere of  a  convent;  yet  bearing  about  her,  if  Mrs. 
Joyce  was  to  be  trusted,  something  of  the  charm  of  the 
gayest  city  in  the  world.  Waring 's  devotion  to  herself 
these  days,  restrained,  yet  significant  in  every  slightest 
word  and  look,  had  only  slightly  assuaged  the  pain  of 
her  prospective  jealousy. 

The  girl  was  indeed  lovely  in  appearance!  Barbara's 
beauty-loving  nature  did  homage  to  her.  Even  under 
the  searching  light  of  the  afternoon  sun,  the  face  be- 
neath the  picture-hat  was  like  a  flower,  with  its  delicate 
contours  and  soft  tints.  For  the- rest  she  was— Paris! 
Every  line  of  the  perfectly  simple  gown  betrayed  it. 

The  mother  was  a  fair  and  comfortable  dowager, 
smiling  under  her  white  parasol,  and  evidently  very  fond 
of  Waring.  Little  silver  things  jingled  as  she  walked. 
An  expensive  odor  of  violet  clung  about  her.  Her  fine, 
well -corseted  figure  dominated  any  group  of  which  she 
formed  a  part. 

They  had  all  assembled  at  the  boat-landing.  Allaire 
and  Dutton  were  of  the  party,  and  most  of  the  eligible 
younger  set  in  the  Faculty.  Waring  had  chartered^  a 
steamboat.  They  were  to  go  about  thirty  miles,  landing 
at  one  of  the  large  hotels  for  supper,  and  perhaps  a  little 
dance.    The  return  would  be  by  moonlight. 

Once  on  the  lake,  Barbara  found  herself  near  Mrs. 
Leverett.  From  polite  questions  concerning  that  lady's 
impressions  of  Hallworth,  she  obtained  not  only  the  ob- 
vious answers  but  a  voluntary  recital  of  the  whole  of 

340 


"THE    PROTECTION    OF    JOY" 

Waring 's  existence  before  his  arrival  as  a  freshman  at 
the  University.  He  had  chosen  Hallworth,  Mrs.  Lev- 
erett  said,  against  his  father's  wishes  and  in  preference 
to  Harvard,  because  Hallworth  was  more  democratic. 
But,  as  for  that,  there  had  never  been  much  sympathy 
between  father  and  son.  The  sternness  and  aloofness 
of  the  elder  Richard  Waring  seemed  to  have  dated  from 
the  hour  when  the  young  mother,  a  Southern  girl,  died, 
leaving  her  new-born  baby. 

"We  were  neighbors,  and  I  used  to  have  Richard 
in  to  play  in  my  children's  nursery.  His  own  was  bare 
enough,  and  his  nurse,  a  Scotch  woman,  talked  to  him 
about  the  Day  of  Judgment  when  he  could  just  toddle. 
He  used  to  ask  me— poor  lamb— if  I  was  quite  sure  he 
was  predestined  to  eternal  life." 

She  talked  on  and  on,  Barbara  listening  with  an 
ache  of  jealousy  that  this  woman  should  have  been  so 
close  to  Richard;  should  know  so  much  more  than  she 
knew.  But  she  smiled  and  drew  her  out,  keeping  her 
eyes  on  her  pleasant,  matronly  face  lest  she  should  see 
Waring  bending  over  Alice.  That  they  were  together 
she  knew.  The  mother  had  quite  obviously  turned  her 
over  to  him  at  the  beginning  of  the  trip,  cautioning  him 
to  see  that  the  child  had  enough  wraps. 

Had  she  match-making  intentions  in  bringing  her 
daughter  to  Hallworth?  Did  she  foresee  a  brilliant 
career  for  Waring?  He  was  nearly  thirty,  twelve  years 
older  than  the  girl,  but  that  was  rather  an  advantage. 
Barbara  put  the  question  in  every  pitiless  light. 

Dutton  and  Allaire  came  for  her  after  a  while  to 
point  out  something  on  the  shore  to  her.  Allaire 
slipped  a  hand  in  hers  and  held  it  tightly. 

341 


THE    LAW   OF   LIFE 

"I've  been  talking  to  the  little  lady  from  Paris," 
she  said.  ' '  She  is  dainty,  but  I  think  her  heart  must  be 
jiist  like  a  piece  of  sweet  wet  soap. ' ' 

The  odd  words  took  the  strain  out  of  things.  Bar- 
bara laughed.  For  the  rest  of  the  trip  she  sat  with  them. 
The  boat  was  too  small  for  pairing  off,  so  her  conscience 
was  clear.  Dutton  and  Allaire  were  wholesome  persons 
to  be  with. 

She  managed  to  evade  Waring  after  they  landed,  but 
at  supper-time  she  found  he  had  placed  her  at  his  left, 
with  Mrs.  Leverett  opposite.  She  joined  in  the  talk 
gaily,  sometimes  addressing  him,  but  never  meeting  his 
eyes.  She  saw  that  the  matron's  familiar,  reminiscent 
conversation  did  not  put  him  wholly  at  his  ease.  He 
seemed  afraid  of  its  personal  element.  Once  Mrs.  Lev- 
erett, leaning  forward,  asked  her  confidentially : 

"Don't  you  think  Mr.  Waring  looks  very  much  run 
down?" 

'  *  He  is  an  indefatigable  worker, ' '  Barbara  answered, 
smiling. 

"You  are  a  very  good  friend  of  his,  he  tells  me. 
You  shouldn't  let  him  overwork.  These  unmarried  men 
are  such  uncared-for  creatures.  When  are  you  going 
to  be  sensible— and  marry,  Richard?" 

He  laughed. 

"Oh,  I  shall  never  marry!" 

Mrs.  Leverett  gave  Barbara  a  look,  implying  mutual 
matronly  understanding. 

"They  all  say  that— don't  they?  I  brought  you  up, 
Richard ;  I  shall  not  feel  that  my  duty  is  done  until  you 
are  married." 

342 


"THE    PROTECTION    OF    JOY" 

"Will  you  pick  out  the  girl  for  me?"  he  said  lightly. 

"Oh,  no.  I'll  do  everything  but  that,  though  I  have 
my  theories.  What  kind  of  a  woman  do  you  think  he 
ought  to  marry,  Mrs.  Penfold?" 

Barbara  felt  the  flush  mount  to  her  forehead. 

' '  I  haven 't  even  theories, ' •  she  said  with  a  smile. 

Waring  did  not  look  at  her. 

On  the  home  journey  he  sat  with  Mrs.  Leverett,  but 
toward  the  end  of  it  he  made  his  way  to  the  place  where 
Barbara  was.  The  man  beside  her  rose.  He  took  his  seat 
without  a  word. 

His  face  in  the  moonlight  was  tired  and  careworn. 
She  began  to  talk  of  one  thing  and  another,  to  cover 
up  the  silence  that  she  feared.  Conflicting  feelings  had 
left  her  at  the  mercy  of  herself. 

He  answered  her  in  monosyllables,  checking  with  his 
eyes  her  attempt  at  indifferent  conversation.  The  at- 
mosphere seemed  surcharged  with  his  emotion. 

Fear  of  she  knew  not  what  overcame  her  desire  to 
be  with  him.     She  rose  abruptly. 

"I  must  find  Allaire.  She  left  her  coat  with  me  and 
it  is  getting  cold." 

"Barbara,  don't  go." 

He  rose,  standing  between  her  and  the  passage.  His 
love  was  in  his  face. 

"I— I  must,"  she  faltered,  pushing  past  him,  her 
hand  for  an  instant  across  her  eyes,  blinded  with  that 
look. 

She  reached  home  a  little  after  midnight.  Her  hus- 
band's study  door  was  closed.  She  did  not  knock  upon 
it.    He  was  probably  farther  away  than  Saturn. 

343 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

A  low  light  was  burning  in  her  room.  On  a  chair 
before  her  dressing-table  lay  a  large  wooden  box,  big 
enough  for  a  child's  coffin.  Bending  over  it  she  saw, 
with  the  express  labels,  the  card  of  a  New  York  florist. 
Mehitabel  had  evidently  removed  the  nails  from  the  lid, 
for  it  yielded  at  her  touch.  Raising  it  she  saw  lying  in 
a  bed  of  moss  a  mass  of  crimson.  She  put  her  arms  in 
and  gathered  them  to  her  breast,  more  roses  than  she 
could  count ;  more  roses  than  she  had  ever  had  in  her  life 
before. 

She  sank  on  her  knees  by  the  chair,  burying  her  face 
in  them,  intoxicated  with  their  fragrance— with  more 
than  their  fragrance. 

She  knelt  a  long  time  motionless.  Once  she  pressed 
her  lips  against  the  flowery  mass. 

She  knew  now  that  she  must  go. 


344 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 

IN  EXILE. 

Waring  came  early  to  the  house  the  next  evening, 
hoping  to  have  a  few  moments  with  Barbara  before  be- 
ginning work.  Her  avoidance  of  him  on  the  boat-ride, 
while  appealing  to  his  nobler  purpose,  awoke  the  inevi- 
table desire  of  conquest  in  the  face  of  difficulties.  He 
should  protect  her,  yes;  every  law  of  honor  and  chivalry 
demanded  that,  but  she  must  first  be  his  to  protect. 

Mehitabel  came  to  the  door. 

"Is  Dr.  Penfold  in  his  study?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Waring." 

"Is-isMrs.  Penfold  in?" 

"She  left  this  afternoon  for  Maine." 

Waring  was  too  astonished  to  say  a  word.  He  turned 
a  blank  face  to  Mehitabel,  who,  unconscious  of  the 
shock  she  had  given  him,  went  on  cheerfully. 

"She  made  up  her  mind  all  of  a  sudden.  I  helped 
her  pack  most  of  the  morning.  The  Doctor  he  wanted  her 
to  wait  a  day  and  take  it  more  slow ;  but  she  seemed  to 
have  set  her  heart  on  goin ',  and  I  was  glad  of  it.  She  'd 
run  down  sure  in  this  heat." 

Waring  nodded. 

"Yes,"  he  said  dully,  "Mrs.  Penfold  will  be  the  bet- 
ter for  the  change. ' ' 

"You  look  sort  o'  peaked  yourself,  sir,""  Mehitabel 
said,  with  motherly  solicitation.  "Don't  let  him  work 
you  too  hard,"  she  added,  in  the  tone  of  a  conspirator. 

345 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

"He  ain't  like  other  men.  You  couldn't  wear  him  out. 
But  you  ain't  toughened  yet." 

Waring  smiled  faintly. 

"Thank  you,  Mehitabel,  but  I'm  taking  good  care  of 
myself. ' ' 

He  went  slowly  up-stairs,  weighed  down  with  dis- 
appointment, with  self -accusation.  He  told  himself  that 
he  had  driven  her  away.  The  book,  prepared  with  such 
elaborate  care;  the  roses,  what  had  they  been  but  con- 
fessions of  his  love !  Longing  for  her  struggled  with  re- 
morse.    . 

At  the  study  door  he  paused,  unable  to  face  the 
dreariness  that  awaited  him.  In  that  instant  the  re- 
mainder of  the  summer  passed  before  him,  exaggerated 
in  time,  suffocatingly  empty.  How  could  he  go  on  with 
the  book  and  with  his  duties  in  the  summer-school ! 
Even  the  few  days  left  of  Mrs.  Leverett's  visit  took  on 
an  eternal  and  hopeless  character. 

Dr.  Penfold  greeted  him  with  a  pleased  smile. 

"Richard,  I've  found  out  where  we  went  wrong  last 
Wednesday  in  that  algebraic  calculation.  This  is  the 
key  to  the  formula." 

He  pushed  a  paper  across  the  desk.  Waring  bent 
unseeing  eyes  over  it. 

"Mehitabel  tells  me  that  Mrs.  Penfold  is  gone  to 
Maine." 

"Yes,  very  suddenly.  I'm  glad  she'll  have  a  change. 
You  see  what  I  mean  there.  How  we  both  came  to  make 
such  a  mistake  I  can't  conceive!" 

They  were  soon  hard  at  work. 

Visions  of  her  possessed  him  as  he  bent  over  the  desk, 
his  features  drawn  with  pain,  his  tired  eyes  scarcely 

346 


IN    EXILE 

seeing  the  rows  of  figures  before  him.  How  could  he 
go  on? 

Toward  midnight  he  rose. 

"Doctor,  I'll  have  to  quit.  I'm  substituting  for  Wil- 
liams to-morrow  in  addition  to  my  work. ' ' 

Dr.  Penfold  nodded,  too  busy  even  to  answer. 


The  Emperor  showed  no  surprise  over  Barbara's 
coming.  She  scarcely  needed  her  friend's  worn  face  and 
repressed  manner  to  tell  her  that  the  trip  was  in  reality 
a  flight.  Knowing  how  dangerous  bodily  weakness  is 
when  the  emotions  are  at  the  superlative  point,  she  de- 
voted herself  to  the  physical  re-enforcement  of  her 
friend,  keeping  her  many  hours  in  the  open  air,  making 
her  eat,  sending  her  out  sailing  with  Elizabeth  and  Eliz- 
abeth's friends. 

A  certain  apathy  succeeding  the  storm  which  drove 
her  from  her  husband's  house  made  her  plastic  in  the 
Emperor's  hands. 

Concerning  her  inner  life  she  said  nothing.  She  was 
not  confidential  by  nature.  In  any  case  love  and  silence 
had  become  synonymous.  There  was  but'one  person  in 
the  world  whom  she  could  tell,  and  from  him  she  had 
fled. 

She  was  curiously  indifferent  to  the  glory  of  sea  and 
sky,  the  ever-changing  picture  spread  out  each  day  be- 
fore her.  It  was  beautiful,  it  was  all  that  the  Emperor 
had  said,  but  she  did  not  care. 

Elizabeth,  full  of  her  own  happiness,  yet  not  blinded 
by  it  to  the  moods  of  others,  watched  her  with  friendly 
concern.  One  day,  when  they  were  together  on  the  rocks, 
she  reached  her  hand  out  and  touched  Barbara's  gently. 

347 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

' '  Dear,  you  are  not  happy  ? ' ' 

"That  is  true." 

"Can  I  do  anything?" 

"No." 

1  *  If  there  is  ever  anything  that  I  can  do  will  you  let 
me  do  it?" 

"Yes,"  Barbara  said,  her  troubled  eyes  gazing  far 
out  to  sea.  Then  the  thought  came  to  her  that  she 
might  be  hurting  Elizabeth.     She  turned  to  her. 

"Dear,  you  are  good.  I'm  not.  Don't  bother  about 
me." 

1 *  I  can 't  help  it.    You  know  I  care  for  you. ' ' 

"  Go  on  caring  if  you  can ! ' ' 

1 '  That  is  too  easy.    Ask  something  harder. ' ' 

Barbara  smiled,  holding  her  friend's  hand  with  the 
comfort  she  did  not  always  feel  in  the  Emperor's  pres- 
ence. Elizabeth  was  more  restful,  because  her  percep- 
tions were  not  so  keen. 

That  night  Elizabeth  sought  Helena. 
"Do  you  know  what  is  the.  matter  with  Barbara?" 
1 '  How  should  I  ?    She  has  never  told  me. ' ' 
"There's  something  the  matter  with  her— she's  so 

unlike  herself.    I  wish  we  could  help  her!" 

"In  the  last  analysis— whatever  the  trouble  is— no 

one    can    help    her    but    herself,"    the    Emperor    said 

brusquely. 

Elizabeth's  gentle  eyes  looked  reproach. 
"We  could  help  her  to  .help  herself,  couldn't  we?" 
"Aren't  we  rather  impertinent  to  presume  she  stands 
in  need  of  us?     Go  to  bed,  you  walking  piece  of  senti- 

348 


IN   EXILE 

ment!     Romance  has  impaired  your  judgment,"   and, 
kissing  her,  she  put  her  out  of  the  room. 

But  the  Emperor  sat  long  by  her  window,  staring  out 
over  the  moonlit  ocean.  Barbara  would  have  to  go  back. 
What  would  become  of  them  then  ? 

Mehitabel  wrote  weekly  to  her  mistress  of  the  affairs 
of  the  household.  Dr.  Penfold  had  written  once,  a  let- 
ter over  which  Barbara  smiled  in  spite  of  herself.  It  had 
evidently  been  penned  at  intervals,  and  continuity  there 
was  none.     The  signature  was  missing. 

The  letters  of  Mehitabel  were  more  satisfactory, 
though  Barbara  had  to  search  for  the  news  she  wanted 
through  a  thicket  of  detail  concerning  the  manufacture 
of  blackberry  brandy;  the  successful  trapping  of  a 
farmer  in  a  lie,  and  sundry  encounters  with  a  hypo- 
critical grocer,  between  whom  and  Mehitabel  there  had 
been  a  feud  of  long  standing.  After  the  elaborate  ac- 
counts came  the  meager  information  that  "Dr.  Penfold 
was  doing  nicely.  He  and  Mr.  Waring  were  still  work- 
ing dreadfully  hard." 

What  Barbara  longed  to  know  was  the  date  of  War- 
ing 's  departure  from  Hallworth.  The  summer-school 
closed  on  the  fifteenth  of  August.  Would  he  remain 
afterward  to  work  on  the  book?  It  was  to  be  ready  by 
the  first  of  September.  She  thought  he  would  probably 
remain.  She  did  not  wish  to  leave  until  she  was  sure 
he  was  out  of  Hallworth. 

She  was  growing  stronger  in  spite  of  her  destroying 
inner  life.  The  sea-air  was  bringing  color  to  her  cheeks, 
a  clearer  light  to  her  eyes.    But  this  influx  of  physical 

349 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

energy,  breaking  up  her  apathy,  replaced  it  with  suffer- 
ing. The  longing  for  the  sight  of  Waring 's  face,  for 
the  sound  of  his  voice,  drove  her  some  days  like  a  hunted 
thing  along  the  stretches  of  beach,  or  through  the  pine- 
forests. 

She  was  afraid  to  write  and  ask  her  husband  definitely 
how  soon  the  book  would  be  finished,  and  whether  War- 
ing would  remain  after  the  summer -school.  She  decided 
at  last  that  she  would  start  home  on  the  second  of  Sep- 
tember, not  sending  word  beforehand,  lest,  if  he  were 
still  there,  he  might  be  tempted  to  stay. 

The  weeks  dragged  by.  September  came.  Then,  to 
make  quite  sure,  she  still  delayed  her  going  three  or 
four  days. 

On  the  sixth  she  started  for  home,  the  Emperor  trav- 
eling with  her  part  of  the  way.  The  last  of  the  journey 
was  made  by  night.  In  the  early  morning  she  landed  at 
Sparta.  The  towers  of  Hallworth  were  dark  against  the 
glowing  eastern  sky. 

Mehitabel  met  her  at  the  door,  drew  her  in  greedily, 
babbled  over  her,  flew  to  get  her  breakfast.  Dr.  Pen- 
fold,  she  said,  had  gone  to  bed  like  a  Christian  the  night 
before,  would  therefore  be  down  soon  no  doubt. 

He  did  come  down  while  Barbara  was  sitting  there, 
half -dazed  with  the  joy  and  misery  of  getting  back.  His 
face  lit  up  at  the  sight  of  her.  He  took  her  in  his  arms 
and  kissed  her  on  botli  cheeks. 

"Well,  you  have  surprised  me!  How  well  you  are 
looking !    You  did  right  to  go  away  [" 

"And  the  book?" 

350 


IN    EXILE 

"The    book    is    finished,    thank    God!— and    you're 
back.    Now  I'll  take  my  vacation— with  you." 
"And— and  Mr.  Waring?" 
' '  Richard  left  for  New  York  last  night. ' ' 


351 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

TWO  LOVERS. 

She  spent  the  morning  unpacking,  putting  her  things 
in  order,  stopping  once  or  twice  to  talk  with  her  hus- 
band, who  was  carrying  out  his  idea  of  a  vacation — to 
smoke  a  good  cigar  under  his  own  porch  roof,  with  one 
of  the  English  reviews  on  his  knee.  He  asked  her  kindly 
questions  about  her  trip,  and  said  more  than  once  that 
he  was  glad  to  have  her  back.  She  smiled  bravely  and 
told  him  of  the  beauties  of  the  Maine  coast,  showing  him 
some  photographs  the  Emperor  had  made.  Then  when 
she  saw  him  fingering  the  pages  of  the  review  she  slipped 
away  to  her  room,  that  he  might  read  with' a  clear  con- 
science. 

As  long  as  she  kept  busy  she  was  comparatively  safe ; 
but  after  lunch,  in  the  summer  stillness  that  settled  upon 
the  house,  misery  possessed  her.  Dr.  Penfold  had  gone 
to  the  library ;  Mehitabel  was  at  her  endless,  self-imposed 
labors.  Outside  the  September  sun  was  beating  down 
upon  the  dry,  brown  grass  and  the  dusty  walks.  The 
neighboring  houses  were  closed.  That  most  prosaic  of 
all  afternoon  hours,  two  o'clock,  was  striking. 

She  shivered  in  the  close,  lifeless  air.  She  could  not 
bear  it.    She  must  go  out. 

Far  away  on  the  other  side  of  the  ravine,  across  the 
fields,  beyond  the  woods,  was  a  little  knoll,  where  no  one 
ever  came;  where  everything  ended  and  nothing  began, 
an  edge  of  the  world  in  miniature,  overlooking  the  lake 

352 


TWO   LOVERS 

and  receiving  its  breezes.  She  and  Waring  had  dis- 
covered it. 

To  this  place  she  had  bent  her  steps.  The  last  time 
she  had  gone  there  he  had  been  with  her. 

She  scarcely  knew  that  she  was  suffering.  Pain  had 
become  her  constant  Companion.  She  wondered  some- 
times if  it  would  wear  itself  out,  like  physical  anguish. 
But  for  the  body  there  were  narcotics. 

She  reached  her  goal.  The  view  from  it,  long,  nar- 
row, embracing  only  the  lake  and  its  enclosing  hills,  she 
had  seen  last  in  the  spring,  when  the  green  world 
dripped  with  dew. 

Now  the  fields  were  brown  and  dry,  the  lake  thick 
and  metallic  under  the  hot  sun.  The  grass,  scorched  and 
glassy,  made  her  step  cautiously  on  the  rounding  sur- 
face of  the  knoll.  At  the  summit  she  paused,  leaning 
against  a  tall,  ragged  pine,  under  which,  he  had  once 
read  the  ' '  Epipsychidion ' '  to  her. 

If  the  indoor  stillness  had  weighed  upon  her,  this 
quiet  of  a  dying  world— dying  of  suffocation,  it  would 
seem— held  still  greater  oppression.  She  was  afraid  of 
herself,  of  a  pain  that  she  could  neither  assuage  nor 
endure.  She  raised  her  face  to  the  glowing  heaven  be- 
yond the  branches  of  the  pine-tree  and  prayed  that  she 
might  die.  Every  outlet  of  life  seemed  closed  to  her, 
since  all  roads  led  to  him.  At  the  end  of  every  hope, 
every  enthusiasm,  every  new  thought,  every  illuminat- 
ing emotion,  he  was  waiting  for  her. 

She  could  not  bear  this  solitude.  She  must  go  back 
to  the  house  from  which  she  had  fled.  But  as  she  turned 
the  sound  of  footsteps  made  her  pause.  Some  one  was 
passing  through  the  lonely  wood  back  of  the  knoll.    Not 

353 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

wishing  to  be  seen,  she  stepped  back,  and  leaned  against 
the  pine-tree. 

Whoever  it  was  was  coming  toward  her. 

"Barbara!" 

Had  she  died!  Close  beside  her  stood  Waring,  look- 
ing himself  like  one  raised  from  the  dead,  his  face  bend- 
ing to  her,  transfigured  with  surprise  and  joy. 

The  shock,  the  bliss  of  seeing  him  whom  she  believed 
far  away  produced  upon  her  the  effect  of  a  heavy  blow. 
She  swayed  and  slipped  upon  the  smooth  grass. 

As  she  slipped  he  caught  her,  held  her.  In  agony 
she  pressed  her  cheek  against  his  breast.  He  kissed  her 
hair,  her  eyes,  her  lips. 

"Barbara!  help  me!" 

His  voice,  harsh  with  pain,  told  her  that  she  lived. 
Her  palms  against  his  breast  pushed  him  from  her,  held 
him  at  arm,'s  length.  She  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands;  stood  there,  motionless,  silent. 

"I  have  struggled  so!"  he  cried.  "Before  God,  I 
did  not  know  you  were  here.  I  thought  you  still  in 
Maine.  I  was  to  have  gone  last  night— I  couldn't— 
Barbara,  speak  to  me— only  speak  to  me!" 

"Go,  Richard;  go,  go  now!" 

The  appeal  in  her  voice  stilled  his  soul  to  instant 
obedience;  but  the  sweetness  of  his  name  on  her  lips 
held  him  tragically  enchanted. 

She  had  turned  her  face  away  that  she  might  not 
see  him  go.    She  waited ;  then  looked  toward  him  again. 

He  was  standing  against  the  tree,  straight,  motion- 
less as  a  statue,  his  lips  pressed  closely  together,  all  the 
life  of  him  in  the  misery  of  his  gaze. 

Slowly,  deliberately  she  went  toward  him,  her  face 
354 


TWO   LOVERS 

blanched  with  the  realization  of  what  she  was  doing. 
He  opened  his  arms  to  receive  her,  took  her  in  them, 
held  her  with  the  rigid  grasp  of  the  drowned.  She  put 
her  hands  behind  his  head  and  drew  his  face  down. 
Then  freeing  herself,  uttering  an  incoherent  cry,  she  ran 
from  him,  through  the  wood,  toward  the  open  field. 


355 


BOOK    FOURTH 
THE  LAW  OF  LIFE 


357 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

PERDITA   INTERVENES. 

The  lectures  on  "German  Literature"  by  the  learned 
Teuton— said  to  eat  with  his  knife— were  attracting  not 
only  the  students  of  Hallworth  but  even  those  women 
who,  in  self-defence,  made  the  most  conscientious  efforts 
to  resist  the  peculiar  influence  of  their  environment. 
Mrs.  Joyce  and  Perdita  Ravenel  both  belonged  to  this 
minority,  though  for  widely  different  reasons.  The  one 
had  married  learning;  the  other  had  been  all  her  life 
pursued  by  it,  her  desperate  efforts  to  escape  being  gen- 
erally made  good  by  the  flashes  of  her  wit,  which  il- 
lumined the  academic  fog.  To  the  provincialism  of  the 
higher  culture  she  opposed  the  cosmopolitan  feminine. 

One  November  morning  she  and  Mrs.  Joyce  were 
seated  together  in  the  rear  of  the  lecture-room  among 
the  visiting  audience,  chiefly  women,  a  contingent  known 
to  irreverent  students  as  '  *  thirsters. ' '  But  on  this  oc- 
casion the  young  things  themselves  were  eagerly  drink- 
ing in  the  words  of  the  impassioned  German,  who,  with 
a  strange,  jumbled,  yet  effective  oratory,  was  compell- 
ing their  spirits  to  feel  something  of  the  storm  and  stress 
of  a  bygone,  overburdened  age. 

Perdita,  listening  to  the  deep,  guttural  voice  deliv- 
ering its  message  of  truth,  as  once  conceived  by  young 
hearts  of  the  Fatherland,  wondered  why  youthful  Amer- 
icans never— apparently— saw  visions  nor  dreamed 
dreams ;  were  never  rapt  out  of  themselves  by  some  high 
enthusiasm,  some  all-illuminating  romance  of  life  or  art ; 

359 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

why  they  seldom  took  themselves  seriously;  why  a  pig- 
skin meant  more  to  them  than  the  problems  of  the  uni- 
verse; why  no  storm  and  stress  ever  shook  their  natures 
to  the  foundations?  Were  they  shallow?  Was  their 
sense  of  humor  too  keen?  Was  life  made  too  easy  for 
them?  Were  they  spiritual  bastards,  because  born  of  a 
society  without  traditions?  Was  it  better,  after  all,  to 
come  out  of  the  bosom  of  that  Old  World  where  people 
had  not  at  least  lost  the  art  of  taking  pleasure  in  little 
things  ? 

All  these  questions  went  through  her  mind  as  she 
listened  to  the  recital  of  long-stilled  heart-throbs.  This 
unhewn  German  doctor,  with  his  stained  coat,  his  as- 
piring hair,  his  round,  moon  face  and  near-sighted  eyes, 
stood  as  a  sympathetic  interpreter  of  romance— more!— 
was  invoking  romance  from  the  grave  of  the  years. 
What  beautiful  sentiments  they  had  had,  these  youths  of 
the  bared  throats  and  careless  neckties;  how  easily  they 
wept!  How  dramatically  they  suffered!  With  what 
naive  confidence  they  tilted  against  the  Metternichian 
Eighteenth  Century!  How  calm  their  belief  in  the 
angel-origin  of  ringleted  woman!  How  they  dripped 
with  sentiment  when  they  loved,  and  how  frequently 
they  fell  in  love,  dear,  impossible  creatures!  Perhaps 
this  learned  doctor,  stooping  under  the  weight  of  all  he 
knew,  and  all  he  wanted  to  know,  was  descended  from 
one  of  them.  Perdita  wondered  if  any  woman  had  ever 
loved  him.  Studying  him,  she  concluded  that  he  might 
be  married;  but  his  wife  could  only  have  reached  her 
place  at  his  side  by  the  road  of  the  Teutonic  idea  of 
woman's  destiny. 

As  she  left  the  lecture-room  she  said  a  few  words  of 
360 


PERDITA    INTERVENES 

appreciation  in  German  to  the  lecturer,  who  was  wiping 
his  perspiring  brow  with  an  unbleached  handkerchief, 
suggestive  of  homely  virtues.  He  gave  a  grunt  of 
acknowledgment,  and  Perdita  passed  on,  smiling.  At 
the  door  Mrs.  Joyce  slipped  an  arm  through  hers. 

''What  did  you  say  to  him?  He  looked  as  if  he 
wanted  to  eat  you. ' ' 

"I  only  told  him  how  much  I  had  enjoyed  his  lec- 
ture." 

"He  told  Herbert  he  abominated  'de  vimmen  in  de 
lecture-room,'  so  I  go  just  to  torment  him.  Did  you 
think  I  was  thirsting?" 

"No,  dear,"  Perdita  said  sweetly. 

"He  knows  how  though,  doesn't  he?  He  gave  me  a 
little  thrill  up  my  spine  once.  I  should  like  to  have  lived 
in  Germany  in  the  eighteenth  century  and  had  an  Amer- 
ican soul.  How  I  would  have  overworked  their  tear- 
ducts!  The  whole  storm  and  stress  movement  would 
have  centered  in  me." 

Perdita  laughed.  She  was  still  amused  over  her  fe- 
licitation of  the  Teuton  and  its  reception. 

1 '  These  modern  men  are  perfectly  impossible  as 
lovers— cold,  calculating  things !  I  accepted  Herbert  on 
the  day  he  got  his  doctorate,  and  I  've  always  thought  the 
academic  event  filled  him  with  greater  joy.  But  there's 
one  man  in  this  Faculty  who  has  a  storm  and  stress  soul, 
though  he  buttons  it  up  pretty  tight— that's  Richard 
Waring. ' ' 

' '  Do  you  think  so  ? '.'  Perdita  said,  with  the  air  of  one 
in  search  of  information. 

"I  certainly  do.  I  hope  Mrs.  Penfold  will  be  more 
discreet  this  year." 

361 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

"What  do  you  mean,  Phyllis?"  Perdita  said  coldly. 

"Now,  don't  look  aloof  and  inscrutable,  dear  lady. 
You  know  well  enough  what  I  mean." 

"If  you're  implying  that  Mrs.  Penfold  was  not  dis- 
creet last  year,  I  should  like  to  know  your  grounds. ' ' 

"You  will  certainly  admit,  Perdita,  that  if  anybody 
but  Mrs.  Penfold  had  been  seen  everywhere  with  Dicky 
Waring  she'd  have  been  well  talked  about.  She  hasn't 
escaped  it  as  it  is. ' ' 

"I've  heard  nothing." 

"Of  course  you  haven't,  because  you  won't  let  gos- 
sip come  within  a  mile  of  you,  you  haughty  lady.  Come 
back  of  the  library.    I  want  to  talk  to  you. ' ' 

"If  it's  of  this  subject  I  don't  want  to  listen." 

"Don't  be  alarmed.  Only  I  can't  allow  you  to  be 
illogical.  You'll  admit  that  Richard  Waring  was  with 
Mrs.  Penfold  morning,  noon  and  night  last  year." 

"As  I  was  not  an  inmate  of  Dr.  Penfold 's  house,  I 
don't  admit  it!" 

"That's  simply  beating  around  the  bush.  You 
know  they  were  together  at  all  the  functions." 

"I  saw  them  together  at  some  of  them,  yes;  but  I 
happen  to  know  that  it  was  Dr.  Penfold 's  wish  that  Mr. 
Waring  should  look  after  his  wife  a  little.  In  any  case 
it  was  only  courteous  to  a  woman  situated  as  Mrs.  Pen- 
fold  is.  Her  husband  never  goes  out,  never  did  go  out, 
as  you  know  well  enough,  Phyllis.  You've  lived  here 
ten  years." 

"That's  all  very  well.  But  there  was  nothing  going 
on  in  the  summer-time,  and  Mr.  Waring  was  there  con- 
stantly." 

"He  was  helping  Dr.  Penfold  with  that  book." 
362 


PERDITA    INTERVENES 

Mrs.  Joyce  raised  her  expressive  brows. 

' 'And— Barbara  was  away  nearly  two  months." 

Mrs.  Joyce  gave  a  gesture  of  impatience. 

"That  is  neither  here  nor  there.  There's  gossip 
going  about— and  their  very  actions  give  some  color  to 
it;  they  are  plainly  avoiding  each  other.  They  didn't 
dance  once  together  at  the  first  Military.  I  think,"  she 
added  caustically,  "that  demure  Mrs.  Penfold  is  quite 
capable  of  arousing  storm  and  stress.  For  that  very 
reason  I  hope  she'll  be  more  discreet  this  year.  Every 
one  would  blame  her— not  Dicky— and  of  course,  being 
one  of  us,  we  wouldn  't  want  this  gossip  to  go  too  far. ' ' 

"Of  course  not,"  Perdita  said,  with  a  faint  note  of 
satire,  "so  by  way  of  showing  our  friendship  we  get  to- 
gether and  talk  her  over." 

"Don't  be  horrid,  Perdita— but  these  quiet  women 
can  do  anything.    Now  if  I " 

Perdita  laughed  in  spite  of  herself. 

"People  don't  believe  you  capable  of  deep  feeling, 
so  you  can  do  what  you  choose.  Every  one  knows  that 
Barbara  Penfold  belongs  to  the  type  of  women  who  take 
life  seriously." 

"Yes— and  they  are  most  misleading." 

Perdita  suddenly  faced  Mrs.  Joyce. 

"Are  you  her  friend— or  are  you  not,  Phyllis?" 

"I  want  to  be  her  friend,  of  course.  But  she  is 
such  an  icicle— to  me!" 

"Then  stand  up  for  her!" 

"I  have  heard  things— whispers— surmises.  You 
know  what  this  campus  is." 

"Whatever  you  have  heard— kill  it.  True  or  not, 
defend  her  as  you  would  your  own  sister." 

363 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

Her  light,  indifferent  manner  had  fallen  from  her. 
Her  curious  eyes  had  a  strange  light  in  them.  Perdita, 
appealing,  was  not  to  be  resisted,  even  by  a  woman. 
Phyllis  Joyce  looked  at  her  with  frank  admiration. 

1 '  Why  do  you  take  such  an  interest  in  Mrs.  Penf old  ? 
You  are  antipodal." 

"It  is  not  personal." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Esprit  de  corps,  I  suppose.  What  you  should  have, 
Phyllis." 

"You  mean  I've  got  to  defend  every  one  that's  con- 
nected remotely  with  this  horrid  University?" 

Perdita  smiled. 

"You  know  well  enough  what  I  mean— to  use  your 
own  phrase, ' '  she  said,  rising,  and  added,  ' '  I  have  an  en- 
gagement at  twelve. ' ' 

"And  Herbert  is  bringing  some  bore  home  to  lunch. 
The  new  instructors  are  perfectly  hopeless.  The  one  in 
Herbert's  department  has  a  deaf  mother.  I  called  on 
her  yesterday,  and  my  throat  is  hoarse  yet  from  yelling 
through  her  ear-trumpet.    Good-by ,  dear.    Pray  for  me. ' ' 

Perdita  went  on  to  Stafford  Hall,  deeply  absorbed  in 
her  thoughts.  The  whole  of.  the  winter  before  she  had 
watched  Barbara  and  Waring  with  an  intentness  born 
of  her  genuine  interest  in  both  of  them.  Ever  since 
the  night  when  Barbara,  pain-bewildered,  had  sought 
her  with  a  child's  directness  of  appeal,  she  had  felt  for 
her  a  certain  tenderness  which  in  its  essence  was  a  de- 
sire to  protect.  She  herself,  so  well  able  to  stand  alone, 
had  always  drawn  others  to  her.  The  secret  of  her  fas- 
cination for  men  and  women  alike  was  the  power  lent  her 

364 


PERDITA    INTERVENES 

by  crushed  emotion.  She  had  the  art  to  perfection  of 
refraining  from  her  own  temperament— a  tempting  one 
in  its  sensitiveness  to  hidden  currents  of  human  feeling. 
The  joys  of  rejection,  fitting  in  so  well  with  that  pride 
which  was  the  very  marrow  of  her  being,  were  known 
to  her  in  their  fulness.  Besides,  if  you  abandoned  your- 
self to  emotion  you  were  sure  to  grow  clumsy !  But  Bar- 
bara! Here  was  a  soul  whose  divine  awkwardness  she 
might  well  envy.  The  child  whose  eyes  had  softened, 
had  lost  their  misery,  at  the  reading  of  the  ''Princess 
and  the  Wild  Swans,"  must  be  always  wandering  in 
search  of  the  ideal— and  perhaps  stumbling. 

Well !  she  would  seek  to  save  her,  if  she  could,  from 
the  strife  of  tongues.  But  how  ?  The  mere  negative  r61e 
of  opposing  her  silence,  her  delicate  disdain  of  gossip  to 
whispers,  did  not  appeal  to  her.  Her  dramatic  sense 
demanded  action. 

That  Waring  and  Barbara  were  in  a  dangerous  situ- 
ation was  a  matter  of  course.  Only  the  highly  subli- 
mated environment  of  a  university  had  made  their  win- 
ter possible.  But  even  academic  exemptness  had  its 
limits.  The  time  might  be  coming  when  they  should  need 
their  friends. 

The  problem  offered  but  one  solution  possible  at  once 
to  Perdita's  generosity  and  to  her  sense  of  humor.  Men 
had  always  made  love  to  her,  in  spite  of  her  delightful 
invitations  to  them  to  accompany  her  into  the  pleasant 
and  temperate  zone  of  friendship.  Why  not  reverse  situ- 
ations for  once?  The  winter  offered  few  prospects  of 
amusement.  Why  not  divert  attention  from  Barbara  by 
deliberately  wooing  Waring? 

The  novelty  of  the  experiment  appealed  to  her.  She 
365 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

was  perfectly  sure  that  she  should  get  no  emotional  re- 
sponse from  him ;  but  she  counted  on  the  response  of  his 
courtesy.  Besides,  it  was  always  stimulating  to  play  at 
romance  with  the  illuminated. 

She  was  already  planning  her  campaign,  which  began 
with  a  little  dinner,  to  which  the  President  and  Waring 
should  be  invited,  with  perhaps  some  woman  who  did  not 
possess  the  sixth  sense.  Perdita  divided  her  world  into 
those  who  were  harmless  and  those  who  were  not.  The 
harmless  had  only  five  senses. 

If  she  could  be  seen  with  Waring  at  the  functions, 
dance  with  him,  go  perhaps  to  a  concert  or  a  play  with 
him,  take  walks  with  him  on  the  frequented  forest  road, 
might  she  not  draw  to  herself  and  render  innocuous  the 
gossip  which,  descending  upon  another,  might  inflict 
mortal  injury? 

That  Barbara  and  Waring  were  in  love  with  each 
other  she  was  perfectly  sure.  The  little  scene  in  the 
picture-gallery  at  Mrs.  Maturin's  had  supplied  the  place 
of  a  three-volumed  novel.  A  crisis  was  inevitable. 
Until  the  tyranny  of  their  emotions  was  overpast  she 
was  determined  to  continue  her  wooing  of  the  hero.  A 
prophetic  smile  was  on  her  lips  at  the  thought  of  his 
martyr-courtesy  to  her.  She  would  summon  all  her  wit, 
all  her  charm,  all  the  friendliness  she  knew  how  to  make 
so  enchanting,  to  alleviate  the  ennui  he  would  have  to 
suffer. 

She  found  the  President  in  her  drawing-room.  ■  He 
had  sought  her  so  often  of  late  that  had  he  been  any 
one  but  his  sardonic  self  she  would  have  thought  his 
attentions  betrayed  personal  preference. 

As  she  entered  he  was  examining  a  candlestick  of 
366 


PERDITA    INTERVENES 

majolica  in  the  shape  of  a  lotus-flower.  Meiampus  was 
emphasizing  the  frivolity  of  the  furniture  by  his  position 
in  the  centre  of  a  Louis  Quinze  sofa. 

''Where  did  you  pick  this  up?" 

"At  a  private  factory  near  Florence — only  open  to 
Americans— and  their  purses." 

1 \  It 's  a  pretty  trifle.  Get  down,  Meiampus.  You  are 
out  of  place  on  brocade." 

"No,  let  him  stay,"  Perdita  said,  seating  herself  be- 
side the  dog  and  laying  her  hand  on  the  great  head. 
"How  is  your  acquaintance  with  the  Greek  classics  com- 
ing on,  lamb?— or  does  your  master  still  torment  you 
with  Latin?" 

"We  read  the  'Clouds'  last  night." 

"You  must  give  him  a  degree  in  June." 

The  President  was  going  through  a  bundle  of  letters 
which  he  had  drawn  from  an  inner  pocket.  He  found 
at  last  the  one  he  wanted  and  handed  it  to  Perdita  with- 
out a  word.  She  opened  it,  glancing  at  the  engraved 
heading. 

' '  Have  you  invested  in  this  trust  ? ' ' 

"No.  Rebbor  does  us  the  honor  of  wishing  to  invest 
some  of  his  capital  in  Hallworth." 

• '  Not  the  outrageous  John  Rebbor  ? ' ' 

"Read  the  letter." 

She  glanced  over  it,  then  looked  up,  a  slight  flush  in 
her  cheeks. 

"What  astounding " 

"Impertinence?    Well,  yes,  it  is  that— viewed  in  one 
light— in  another,  it  seems  a  desperate  longing  to  re- 
habilitate himself  by  good  works.     Do  you  think   we 
ought  to  give  him  the  chance  ? ' ' 
24  367 


THE    LAW   OF   LIFE 

"Do  you  mean  let  him  buy  a  trusteeship  of  Hall- 
worth  with  this  prospective  gift  of  three  millions?  No, 
I  don't— think  how  the  money  was  made!" 

The  President  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

' '  But  isn  't  this  trust  the  wickedest  thing  in  the  coun- 
try?" 

The  President  smiled.  Perdita 's  rare  lapses  into 
girlishness  always  delighted  him. 

"Dear  lady,  John  Hallworth  himself  could  not  have 
stood  out  against  the  business  methods  of  to-day !  Evil  ? 
Yes,  perhaps,  but  capable  of  bringing  forth  good.  Think 
what  three  millions  would  mean  to  this  University.  We 
could  have  the  new  observatory,  the  art  museum.  As 
trustee,  this  gift  would  be  but  the  beginning  of  gifts. ' ' 

Perdita  smiled. 

"A  trust  as  the  ultimate  promoter  of  sweetness  and 
light  appeals  to  one's  sense  of  humor.  Isn't  this— this 
Rebbor  illiterate  1    What  right  has  he  to  a  trusteeship  ? ' ' 

' '  There  you  're  quite  wrong.  We  don 't  want  scholars 
for  trustees;  we  want  keen  business  men.  Rebbor  is  a 
financial  genius.  Imagine  the  business  affairs  of  the 
University  in  the  hands  of  Dr.  Penf old ! ' ' 

"Well,  are  you  going  to  accept  his  offer?" 

Dr.  Hunt  had  a  horror  of  point-blank  questions. 
Perdita  so  seldom  asked  them  that  her  doing  so  on  this 
occasion  betrayed  a  perfect  fog  of  feminine  bewilder- 
ment and  prejudice.  Yet  it  did  not  displease  him.  He 
was  beginning  to  find  her  femininity  almost  as  alluring 
as  an  idyl  of  Theocritus. 

"I  have  invited  this  colossal  menace  to  the  country 
to  spend  Sunday  with  me.  I  thought  it  well  to  have  a 
personal  acquaintance  with  him  before  performing  my 

368 


PERDITA   INTERVENES 

duty  of  presenting  his  offer  to  the  trustees  and  Fac- 
ulty." 

"I  wonder  why  he  chose  Hallworth  for  his  benefac- 
tions?" 

"Did  you  overlook  that?  He  writes  he  was  a  poor 
boy  himself  once.  I  suppose  he  thinks  the  University 
a  kind  of  Christ's  Hospital." 

Perdita  fingered  Melampus's  stumpy  ears. 

"What  a  mania  these  capitalists  have  for  liaisons 
with  the  higher  education,  corrupting  universities  with 
big  gifts." 

1 *  I  did  not  know  you  were  such  a  socialist. ' ' 

"I  am  not  a  socialist,  I  am  an  aristocrat,"  Perdita 
said,  smiling. 

' "  But  the  aristocracy  perishes  without  wealth.  What 
power  has  a  landless  English  gentleman?" 

"The  power  of  gentle  ideals." 

The  President  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"  'The  meek  shall  inherit  the  earth'?  Some  other 
earth,  perhaps,  but  not  this.  Will  you  do  me  the  honor 
to  meet  John  Rebbor  ?  As  a  strictly  American  product, 
I  think  he  might  interest  you. ' ' 

An  idea  occurred  to  Perdita.  Why  not  include  in  the 
dinner  she  had  planned  for  Waring  the  President's 
guest?  The  combination  held  out  large  promises  of  en- 
tertainment. It  would  be  an  unsurpassed  study  in  con- 
trasts—Waring, the  University  product,  the  idealist,  the 
socialist,  the  seer  of  visions,  self-abandoned  always  to 
romance  in  some  form  or  other,  in  juxtaposition  with  this 
hard-headed  capitalist,  who  had  ruined  hundreds  of 
homes,  and  who  now  wished  to  wed  a  university  with  a 

369 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

little  dowry  of  three  millions,  a  drop  from  the  bottom- 
less bucket. 

"Can't  you  and  he  dine  with  me  Sunday  night?" 

1 '  Yes,  if  you  don 't  make  it  a  dinner-party.  He  wrote 
me— to  quote  his  own  words— that  he  was  not  much  of 
a  hand  for  meeting  people;  which  being  interpreted 
means,  I  suppose,  that  he  is  prejudiced  against  social 
functions. ' ' 

Perdita  laughed. 

"Six  wouldn't  frighten  him!  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sor- 
dello  and  Mr.  Waring. ' ' 

1 '  Do  you  think  Mr.  Waring I "    He  hesitated. 

* '  That 's  just  the  point.  It  would  be  a  delicious  com- 
bination. ' ' 

Dr.  Hunt  laughed. 

"Certainly  antipodal."  He  rose.  "Come,  Melam- 
pus.    You  have  had  enough  petting  to  demoralize  you. ' ' 


370 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

THE  JUDGMENT  OP  TRUTH. 

The  two  months  which  had  elapsed  since  the  critical 
meeting  on  the  knoll  had  been  for  Barbara  a  time  of 
self-abasement.  As  in  the  visions  of  fever  she  saw  con- 
tinually one  scene,  the  concrete  expression  of  her  re- 
proach—the figure  of  Waring,  motionless  against  the 
pine-tree,  the  appeal  of  his  eyes;  then  herself  going 
toward  him  with  the  deliberation  of  the  damned,  giving 
herself  into  his  arms,  drawing  his  lips  down  to  hers. 
What  madness  had  been  upon  her ! 

But  had  it  all  been  madness?  A  woman  beside  her- 
self with  defrauded  life  might  not  be  responsible  for  a 
sudden,  desperate  act.  But  what  if  that  act  should 
stand  for  the  truth  that,  laws  and  conventions  to  the 
contrary,  her  soul  was  Waring 's;  by  every  sympathy 
that  drew  them  together,  by  the  seal  of  their  under- 
standing of  each  other.  Truth  enmeshed  in  a  lie— the 
lie  of  her  marriage— truth  itself  condemned  her.  Be- 
cause the  highest  of  her  was  his,  she  stood  defenseless 
under  the  judgment  of  heaven.  She  was  learning  how 
miserable  they  are  whose  sins  involve  the  soul,  as  if 
they  should  come  to  destruction  by  the  path  of  life.  In 
the  womb  of  the  highest  good  was  evil.  Not  darkness, 
but  light  itself  judged  her. 

Yet  through  all  her  anguish  the  memory  of  that  in- 
stant 's  surrender  reinforced  her  being  with  stubborn  joy. 
She  would  pay  the  price  by  the  strangeness  forever  be- 

371 


THE    LAW    OF    LIFE 

tween  them;  but  to  have  told  him  once  that  her  soul 
was  his  was  worth  eternal  deprivations. 

So,  though  she  bowed  herself  in  the  dust,  she  could 
not  repent.  The  strength  of  life  in  her  as  yet  forbade 
it.  The  tragedy  of  the  future  was  in  her  hands.  The 
bliss  of  the  past  had  been  imposed  upon  her. 

The  mood  in  which  these  thoughts  were  born  lasted 
through  the  period  of  Waring 's  absence  from  Hall- 
worth  ;  but  on  his  return  in  early  October  the  very  long- 
ing to  see  him  awoke  in  her  remorse  for  that  moment  of 
self-betrayal.  Had  she  not  revealed  her  love  she  might 
still  hear  his  voice,  look  upon  his  face,  still  painfully 
create  the  chimera  of  their  innocence. 

In  her  heart  she  knew  that  the  sin  was  in  the  thought ; 
that  she  had  been  as  guilty  before  the  kiss  as  after ;  but 
emotion  weakened  her  control  upon  her  thoughts.  In 
the  barren  life  stretching  out  before  her,  were  not  even 
these  to  be  left  her?  To  give  them  up  was  to  give  up 
love;  and  love  was  the  very  law  of  life;  how  could  she 
live  without  them? 

Yet  there  were  hours  when  all  the  subtleties  of  pas- 
sion seemed  swept  away  by  a  clear  and  bitter  wind  of 
the  spirit,  revealing  to  her  gaze  not  love,  not  life,  but 
the  plain  fact  of  her  guilt. 

She  knew  herself  not  a  creature  transfigured  by  a 
supreme  experience,  but  a  sinner.  Guilt  was  waiting 
for  her  now  at  the  end  of  every  perspective,  as  once  he 
had  waited. 

Torment  rang  all  its  changes.  On  some  days  she 
centered  her  pain  in  him.  Did  he  despise  her?  Did  he 
think  her  a  bad  woman?  Did  he  think  her— worse!— a 
weak  one?    Or  did  he  know  that  she  had  come  to  him 

372 


THE    JUDGMENT    OF    TRUTH 

with  the  first-fruits  of  her  conscious,  immortal  life, 
with  eyes,  whether  the  eyes  of  a  sinner  or  no,  that 
looked  in  that  instant  upon  the  beatific  vision. 

During  this  time  she  devoted  herself  to  her  husband 
with  a  fervor  of  solicitude  which  did  not  escape  even  his 
dreaming;  eyes.  He  himself  had  the  leisure  just  then  to 
be  grateful.  The  book  was  finished.  The  University 
had  not  yet  opened  its  doors.  He  was  glad  to  walk  and 
talk  with  Barbara,  to  renew  his  acquaintance  with  her. 
Sometimes  the  expressions  of  her  sensitive  face  puzzled 
him.  He  surprised  there  a  humility  which  he  could  con- 
nect with  nothing  in  her  simple  existence.  Often  she 
was  preoccupied— forgot  to  answer  him,  her  brooding 
eyes  fixed  on  far  horizons.  One  day  he  jestingly  re- 
proached her  for  her  withdrawn  moods,  saying  that  she 
must  not  grow  like  her  poor,  abstracted  husband,  too 
old  to  reform.    In  a  voice  that  quivered  she  answered : 

''If  I  ever  can  be  as  good  as  you  I  shall  be  thankful." 

"As  good  as  I  am!  My  dear,  I  am  a  monument  of 
selfishness,  an  unsocial,  ungracious  scholar.  Surely  you 
must  know  it  by  this  time." 

Her  faint,  sad  smile  was  her  only  answer. 

He  noticed  that  she  shrank  from  the  few  awkward 
caresses  he  bestowed  upon  her,  but  he  thought  it  was  her 
preoccupied  mood.  He  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
tradition  had  not  overrated  the  changeableness  and 
barometrical  dispositions  of  women ;  yet  he  was  thankful 
that  the  representative  of  the  sex  who  had  fallen  to  his 
share  was  so  winning  in  her  gentleness;  so  unobtrusive 
of  her  hidden  life.  She  was  just  enough  in  his  own  ex- 
istence to  lay  the  specter  of  loneliness  which  at  long  in- 
tervals had  haunted  his  bachelor  days.     He  congratu- 

373 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

lated  himself  that  he  had  found  the  one  woman  in  all  the 
world  who  could  appreciate  and  respect  his  obligations 
to  himself  while  living  her  own  life  with  quiet  dignity. 
The  thought  of  active,  all-pervading  Mrs.  Joyce  some- 
times made  him  shudder ;  even  her  reputation  for  French 
dishes  but  increasing  her  strength  as  a  destructive  prin- 
ciple. Suppose  that  in  his  early  manhood  the  gods  had 
first  made  him  mad,  that  they  might  destroy  him  with 
such  a  woman.  He  shook  off  the  idea  like  a  night- 
mare. 

As  the  opening  of  the  University  drew  near,  dread 
of  her  first  meeting  with  Waring  oppressed  her,  a  dread 
which  on  its  reverse  side  was  longing.  Her  youth  some 
days  transcended  her  sin.  Could  they  never  again 
clasp  each  other's  hands  like  little  children,  and  go  away 
together  into  the  summer-world?  It  had  not  been  all 
passion,  all  sin.  Ah,  indeed,  that  had  been  but  a  narrow 
if  intense  part  of  it.  She  thought  of  their  happy  friend- 
liness, their  happy  laughter;  of  that  golden  fellowship 
with  all  young  things,  which  made  even  the  aged  eartli 
their  playmate  in  the  immortal  renewals  of  the  spring. 
Must  this  wealth  of  innocence  be  given  up  because  deep 
had  called  unto  deep,  in  one  unfathomable  moment! 
They  could  be  again  together  could  they  be  certain  that 
such  a  moment  would  never  return. 

The  University  opened.  The  campus  again  was 
thronged.  Youth  in  all  its  bravery  signalled  to  the 
forces  of  the  world  to  witness  its  triumphs.  Indoors  the 
married  and  defeated  sat. 

In  her  anxiety  to  avoid  Waring,  Barbara  was  divided 
between  a  choice  of  shelters,  the  narrow  house,  the  wide 
and  open  world.    He  would  inevitably  call  upon  her  hus- 

374 


THE    JUDGMENT    OF    TRUTH 

band,  must  in  courtesy  ask  for  her.  The  house  was  too 
small  for  excuses.    She  would  have  to  face  him. 

On  the  other  hand,  choose  the  loneliest  road  in  all  the 
lonely  country  back  of  Hallworth,  and  she  might  meet 
him  on  it.  It  would  be  worse  to  meet  him  where  they 
would  be  alone  together,  than  where  the  restraint  of 
others  should  clamp  their  spirits  into  at  least  outward 
obedience.  She  decided  upon  the  shelter  of  the  house. 
Her  husband  might  bring  Waring  home  with  him  but 
forget  to  summon  her.  The  trial  would  be  thus  post- 
poned. 

But  Waring  did  not  come,  nor  did  her  husband  bring 
him  to  the  house.  Did  he  despise  her?  Had  she  killed 
his  love  with  her  confessing  kiss?  She  clung  to  the 
thought  of  their  congenial  tastes  and  interests.  The  chain 
which  bound  them  had  been  forged  out  of  a  true  friend- 
ship.   Nothing  could  destroy  that. 

The  memory  of  his  appealing  words,  "Barbara,  help 
me!"  comforted  her.  He  must  have  loved  her  to  have 
uttered  them,  and  if  he  loved  her  he  could  not  despise 
her. 

She  summoned  her  courage  one  day  to  ask  her  hus- 
band about  him.    She  could  no  longer  bear  the  suspense. 

"Hasn't  he  been  here  to  see  you?  That's  strange! 
Well,  no,  it  isn't,  either.  He's  overwhelmed  with  work 
just  now.    His  appearance  reproaches  me." 

1 '  What  do  you  mean  ? ' '  Barbara  said,  her  face  grow- 
ing white. 

"He  looks  ill.  I  am  afraid  I  overworked  him  this 
summer. ' ' 

The  first  Military  hop  demanded  her  presence.    She 
375 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

had  been  appointed  one  of  the  patronesses  for  the  season. 
The  Boy,  the  painfully  chivalrous  freshman  of  what  now 
seemed  to  her  a  long-ago  year,  had  become  the  presi- 
dent of  the  senior  class.  To  please  him  she  had  accepted 
the  office  of  patroness.  His  boyishness,  charmingly  tem- 
pered with  his  seniority,  had  done  her  homage  ever  since 
his  recognition  of  her  at  Waring 's  reception.  He 
seemed  proud  of  the  fact  that  they  had  been  class- 
mates. ' 

He  called  to  ask  her  if  he  might  have  the  honor  of 
taking  her  to  the  first  event  and  of  filling  out  her  card. 
She  accepted,  hiding  necessity  under  her  feigned  pleas- 
ure. She  had  no  fear  of  Waring  's  name  being  on  her 
dance-card.  If  the  Boy  should  ask  him  for  it,  he  would 
know  how  to  fence. 

The  Boy  did  ask  him,  lying  in  wait  for  him  after  a 
lecture.  This  young  professor,  who  had  had  the  bap- 
tism of  fire  in  the  Spanish  War,  was  one  of  the  Boy's 
University  idols.  Of  Waring 's  devotion  to  Mrs.  Pen- 
fold  he  had  heard  a  little. 

He  presented  her  card,  therefore,  with  enthusiastic 
confidence,  tempered  by  his  reverence  for  Waring. 

"Mrs.  Penfold  has  done  me  the  honor  to  accept  my 
escort  to  the  Military,"  he  began,  with  grave  impor- 
tance, "and  I  am  making  out  her  card.  Will  you  put 
down  your  name?" 

Waring  paused  on  the  steps.  His  dark  eyes  searched 
the  Boy's  face  for  a  moment,  then  he  took  the  bit  of 
pasteboard  with  a  hand  that  trembled.  9 

"It  would  give  me  the  greatest  pleasure  to  put 
my  name  down— but— but  I  am  not  going  to  the  Mili- 
tary.   I  am  rushed  with  work. ' ' 

376 


THE    JUDGMENT    OF    TRUTH 

"We  can't  spare  you!"  the  Boy  said  boldly.  "You 
must  come." 

Waring  shook  his  head. 

"I  may  drop  in  for  a  moment,  but  I  can't  bind  my- 
self. Thank  you  for  the  honor  you  do  me/-'  he  added, 
with  a  smile  that  illuminated  the  whiteness  of  his  face. 

The  Boy  went  away  puzzled.  He  wondered  why  War- 
ing should  refuse  Mrs.  Penf old's  card  of  all  cards.  It 
seemed  ungracious  of  him. 


On  the  night  of  the  Military  the  Boy  came  in  all  the 
glory  of  a  carriage  and  brought  roses  for  Barbara.  She 
was  glad  they  were  not  red. 

For  the  honor  of  the  Boy,  so  she  told  herself,  she 
put  on  the  prettiest  gown  she  possessed.  He  looked  her 
over  with  frank,  youthful  approval  as  he  handed  her 
her  flowers. 

She  prayed  that  Waring  would  not  be  there,  yet  she 
was  conscious  of  bitter  disappointment  when  she  saw 
that  her  prayer  was  answered. 

The  Boy  danced  the  first  two  waltzes  with  her,  then 
gave  her  reluctantly  into  Dutton  's  hands.  Dutton  seemed 
overflowing  with  some  unspoken  happiness.  Barbara's 
own  grief  had  made  her  peculiarly  sensitive  to  others' 
joy. 

"How  is  Allaire?"  she  said.  "I  haven't  seen  her 
lately." 

"She's  just  lovely!"  Dutton  answered,  in  a  burst  of 
candor. 

' '  I  hope  you  will  be  happy, ' '  Barbara  said  simply. 
Her  quiet  sympathy  drew  his  confidence. 
377 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

"We  will  be,"  he  said,  "if  I  can  ever  get  a  full  pro- 
fessorship.   They  '11  not  let  me  have  her  until  I  do. " 

1 '  I  wish  I  could  help  you.    I  want  you  to  be  happy. ' ' 

"You've  always  been  our  very  good  friend.  Allaire 
and  I  don 't  forget  it. ' ' 

Her  misery  bit  at  her  heart.  Here  were  two  people 
free  to  follow  their  innocent  love. 

1 '  Have  you  seen  Richard  ?  Of  course  you  have, ' '  he 
said,  in  a  pause  of  the  waltz. 

Barbara  turned  away  her  eyes. 

"No;  he  is  very  busy,  I  believe." 

"He  looks  done  up.  None  of  us  can  work  up  to  Dr. 
Penf old 's  limit.    I  wish  we  could. ' ' 

"My  husband  is  reproaching  himself." 

"Oh,  there's  no  need  of  that,"  Dutton  hastened  to 
say  kindly.  "I  don't  believe  it  was  just  that.  He  had 
the  summer-school  besides." 

"Yes,"  Barbara  said  faintly,  straining  every  nerve 
to  keep  her  self-control. 

In  the  middle  of  the  evening  she  became  conscious 
that  Waring  had  entered  the  Armory.  For  a  moment 
the  gay  scene  swam  about  her.  Turning  to  the  man 
who  was  with  her,  and  who  was  wondering  at  her  pal- 
lor, she  said: 

"Will  you  take  me  to  Miss  Dare?  I— I  have  a  mes- 
sage to  give  her." 

Once  at  the  Emperor's  side  she  dismissed  him  with 
all  the  graciousness  she  could  summon,  then  turned  to 
her  friend. 

"Helena,  will  you  go  with  me  to  the  dressing-room? 
It  is  intolerably  warm  in  here." 

378 


THE    JUDGMENT    OF    TRUTH 

"You  and  I  were  not  made  for  the  gay  world,  Bar- 
bara," she  answered  lightly  as  she  rose.  "I  am  always 
amazed  when  I  see  you  dancing,  talking  with  these  in- 
fants. You're  young  enough  to,  dear  knows,  but  that 
aged  soul  of  yours!— it  is  almost  as  old  as  mine." 

So  with  a  string  of  nothings  she  covered  up  her  un- 
derstanding of  Barbara's  plight.  They  stayed  in  the 
dressing-room  during  the  intermission.  When  they  went 
down  again  Waring  was  still  there.  He  danced  once 
with  Mrs.  Joyce,  but  left  at  the  end  of  the  waltz.  Like 
an  automaton  Barbara  went  through  the  remainder  of 
her  program. 

On  her  return  home  she  heard  the  sound  of  voices 
in  her  husband's  study.  She  could  distinguish  War- 
ing's. 

Flight  to  her  own  room  was  her  first  thought.  A 
strange  physical  coldness  enveloped  her,  made  her 
tremble.    No,  she  could  not  face  him. 

But  the  moment  must  be  lived.  She  must  see  his 
face,  even  if  it  held  contempt  of  her. 

She  went  into  the  little  drawing-room.  Mehitabel 
came  in  and  took  her  mistress's  cloak  and  brought  her 
bouillon.  Sometimes  she  treated  Barbara  like  a  child, 
sometimes  like  a  great  lady.  To-night  Mrs.  Penf old's 
manner,  withdrawn  and  sad,  held  her  at  a  distance. 

Good-bys  were  being  said  in  the  upper  hall.  Then 
Waring  came  down  the  stairs.  In  the  lower  hall  he 
paused.  The  pause  was  followed  by  his  entrance  into 
the  room  where  she  was.  She  rose  and  faced  him,  the 
tragic  look  in  her  face  contrasting  oddly  with  her  fes- 
tive dress. 

379 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

She  had  meant  to  say  something  conventional,  to 
smile,  to  act,  but  the  question  in  her  heart  trampled  out 
the  empty,  formal  phrases.  Waring  himself  said  not  a 
word,  seemed  incapable  of  speaking.  They  stood  for  a 
moment  gazing  at  each  other,  then  in  silence  he  bowed 
very  low  and,  turning,  left  her.  The  homage  in  his 
eyes,  in  his  act,  answered  her  question.  For  the  mo- 
ment peace  possessed  her. 


380 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

AN  ENTERPRISE  OP  WOOING. 

Barbara's  avoidance  of  Waring  at  the  dance,  though 
he  knew  the  necessity  of  it,  though  it  fell  in  with  his 
own  instinct  for  her  preservation,  yet  increased  tenfold 
the  misery  which  had  driven  him  there.  Speech  between 
them  under  such  circumstances,  indeed  under  any  con- 
ventional circumstances,  seemed  sacrilege;  yet  he  longed 
for  the  benediction  of  a  word  from  her. 

Did  she  despise  him?  Ah,  no!  She  could  not.  She 
had  not  come  to  him  that  September  day  with  the  soul 
of  truth  in  her  suffering  eyes  to  despise  him  now. 

The  memory  of  that  scene  never  left  him.  Its  hour 
had  become  the  "I  am"  of  his  being.  On  the  streets  of 
New  York,  on  the  campus,  in  the  lecture-room,  her  face 
blotted  out  all  other  scenes ;  her  kiss  all  other  acts.  The 
world  was  dreaming.  He  and  Barbara  alone  were 
awake.  But  they  had  awakened  to  pain.  Pain  and 
love— love  and  pain— there  was  no  difference! 

Ecstasy  and  despair  fought  for  the  supremacy  of 
him.  Ecstasy  that  she  was  his;  despair  that  she  was 
another 's. 

But  was  she  another's  for  all  time?  His  longing  for 
her  strangled  his  honor.  What  was  Penfold  to  him  that 
he  should  consider  him?  A  scholar  who  had  married  a 
girl  twenty-five  years  his  junior,  only  to  leave  her,  and 
go    back— miserable    hermit!— into    the    deserts   of   his 

381 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

scholarship— such  a  man  should  have  his  wife  taken 
from  him  by  law. 

The  traitor  thought  kissed  him  on  both  cheeks;  but 
he  put  it  from  him  that  he  might  go  that  night  to  Dr. 
Penf old's  on  his  necessary  errand  with  a  conscience  free 
at  least  of  future  burdens. 

Once  there  he  lingered,  hoping  for  another  sight  of 
Barbara.  He  heard  her  come  in.  Then  restlessness 
seized  him  and  he  soon  made  his  adieus. 

He  did  not  know  what  he  should  say  to  her.  When 
he  came  into  her  presence  he  was  dumb  before  that  look 
in  her  eyes.  Words  were  impossible  as  wings.  He  could 
only  bow  low  and  leave  her. 

Did  she  understand  his  silence  ?  He  entered  upon  his 
white  night,  one  link  in  a  long  succession  of  such  vigils, 
feverish  with  his  doubt.  Did  she  know  that  he  was 
dumb  with  his  need  of  her  f 

On  his  way  to  the  library  next  morning  the  impos- 
sible happened— he  met  her.  But  Dutton  was  with  her, 
aware  only  of  his  own  love  for  Allaire,  and  assuming 
the  good  comradeship  of  all  the  rest  of  the  world. 

His  cheerful  greeting  nagged  Waring  to  stop. 

"Why  are  you  rushing  on  so,  Richard?  Mrs.  Pen- 
fold  was  telling  me  she  hadn't  received  her  October 
College  and  State.  It's  a  great  number.  I  want  her  to 
read  'All'— Miss  Sordello's  contribution." 

"You  must  certainly  read  it,"  Waring  said,  forcing 
himself  to  meet  her  eyes. 

"Is  it-like  her?" 

"Isn't  it,  Dutton?" 

Dutton  blushed. 

382 


AN    ENTERPRISE    OF   WOOING 

4 'I— I  think  it  is.    It's  quaint— humorous." 

1 '  I  had  difficulty  in  getting  her  to  write  it ;  but  she 
repaid  me  with  a  clever  piece  of  work— too  clever  for 
College  and  State/' 

Dutton  beamed. 

At  that  moment  he  caught  sight  of  Allaire  in  the 
distance,  and  excused  himself  abruptly  but  gaily. 

Waring  and  Barbara  were  left  together. 

"You  are  going— home?     May  I— walk  with  you?" 

1 '  Yes, ' '  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

Silence  again  enclosed  them.    He  could  not  bear  it. 

"May  I  speak  once,  only  once?  No,  no,  don't  turn 
away  from  me.    You  wouldn't— if  you  knew " 

"I  must  speak,  too— once,  only  once." 

"What  is  it?    Tell  me.    Trust  me." 

1 ' You  do  not  despise  me!" 

"Despise  you!    Oh,  my  God!" 

"I  had  peace  for  one  moment  last  night,  because 
you  bowed  low  to  me.  You  would  not  bow  low  to— a — 
woman  you— despised." 

' '  Hush,  you  torture  me ! " 

They  walked  on  in  silence.  The  broad  light  of 
eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  open  campus,  freed 
their  emotions  not  into  commonplaceness,  but  into  the 
calm  of  fatality. 

' '  What  is  it  that  you  had  to  say  tome!" 

"I  was  dumb  last  night— because " 

"Don't  say  it!" 

Her  voice  was  harsh  with  command. 

"I  understand,"  she  went  on;  "I  can  endure— if  you 
do    not— despise   me.      We   must   never   speak— again. 
We  must  not  see— each  other." 
25  383 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

''But  we  must  keep  up  the  appearance  of  friend- 
ship—until  " 

"Until  what?" 

He  shook  his  head.  Her  tragic  acceptance  of  the  in- 
evitable killed  even  the  traitor  thought  again  kissing  his 
cheek.  In  that  instant  the  solitude  of  his  future  un- 
rolled before  him. 

"Never  mind.  But  you  understand  that  it  is  neces- 
sary to  appear— friendly— this  world  is— small.' ' 

"I  understand." 

"We  will  act!" 

1 '  No,  we  will  be  real, ' '  she  cried.  ' '  We  will  not  even 
think— not  think— not  think." 

She  turned  to  him  her  face  alight  with  challenge, 
with  command  unspeakable.  Then  she  held  out  her 
hand,  the  old,  sweet  gesture,  now  the  symbol  of  their 
separation. 

As  he  turned  from  her,  helpless,  miserable,  he  saw 
Perdita  Kavenel  coming  toward  him,  a  tall,  svelt  figure, 
swaying  slightly  as  she  walked.  He  longed  to  escape. 
The  thought  of  courteous  nothings  which  must  pass  be- 
tween them  was  scarcely  tolerable. 

But,  the  habit  of  years  strong  upon  him,  he  went  to 
meet  her,  his  muscles  in  order  for  the  inevitable  smile, 
the  light  words  of  greeting. 

She  opened  their  conversation  with  a  challenge. 

"Why  have  you  not  answered  my  invitation  to  din- 
ner? Now,  don't  proffer  the  usual  academic  excuses.  I 
know  you're  worked  to  death  by  this  merciless  machine, 
but  speak  the  truth  and  I'll  forgive  you." 

Waring  looked  bewildered. 
384 


AN    ENTERPRISE    OF   WOOING 

"  Your— invitation  to  dinner?"  he  said  slowly. 

1  \  Yes ;  didn  't  you  receive  it !  I  sent  it  three  days  ago, 
and  it  is  for  to-morrow. ' ' 

A  flush  overspread  Waring 's  face.  Speechless,  em- 
barrassed as  a  schoolboy,  he  put  a  hand  in  an  inner 
pocket  and  drew  out  a  bundle  of  unopened  letters,  the 
accumulated  mail  of  three  days. 

"I  suppose  it's  among  these,"  he  said,  ruefully.  "I 
have  been  forced— to  neglect— I  know  it's  outrageous, 
but " 

Perdita  was  smiling.  Her  enigmatical  eyes  studied 
his  face.  She  saw  there  much  that  increased  the  difficul- 
ties of  her  enterprise  of  wooing,  but  appealed  at  once  to 
her  humor  and  her  altruism.  She  was  not,  never  could 
be,  in  love  with  Waring;  but  she  had  an  intellectual  ap- 
preciation of  a  certain  fascination  in  his  personality. 
Had  he  looked  so  gray  and  worn  for  love  of  her  she  could 
conceive  how  hard  it  would  be  to  resist  him.  How  much 
harder  for  a  woman  in  love  with  him,  as  she  believed 
Barbara  was— a  woman  bound,  moreover,  to  a  man  con- 
ceived and  born  in  numbers,  hedged  in  with  them  like 
spikes!  Yes,  this  was  certainly  a  case  which  called  for 
philanthropy,  and  Perdita,  with  the  ghost  of  a  Leonardo 
smile  upon  her  lips,  resolved  that  for  once  philanthropy 
should  be  productive  of  something  more  than  resentful 
gratitude. 

She  checked  Waring,  who  was  still  fumbling  through 
the  letters. 

"Never  mind  the  note.  The  point  is  will  you  come? 
It's  to  be  a  very  innocuous,  very  proper  Sunday  din- 
ner—not that  I  mean  to  starve  you." 

"I  think  I  have  no  engagement  for  that  night," 
385 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

Waring  said,  hoping  that  his  unwillingness  was  not  in 
his  voice. 

"Good!  Your  heroic  virtue  will  be  rewarded.  The 
number  of  guests  is  small,  but  the  selection  is  choice. 
Professor  and  Mrs.  Sordello  are  coming,  the  President— 
and,  whom  do  you  think?  You  are  at  liberty  to  choose 
the  most  impossible  person  now  before  the  public  in  these 
United  States." 

"I  am  consumed  with  curiosity.    Not  Willoughby I ' ' 

Perdita  laughed. 

"No,  not  Willoughby.    John  Rebbor." 

' '  John  Rebbor !    How  in ' ' 

"How  in  creation  is  he  at  Hallworth  as  the  guest  of 
the  President?  That's  the  secret.  You'll  know  later 
on." 

A  look  of  animation,  of  interest,  lit  up  for  the  mo- 
ment Waring 's  eyes. 

"John  Rebbor!  I  think  he's  a  thief  and  robber  on 
the  most  colossal  scale  the  world  has  ever  seen,  but  I'm 
delighted  that  you  are  giving  me  this  chance  to  meet 
him.    It  is  good  of  you. ' ' 

"Oh,  no.  I  thought  he  might  interest  you/  He  be- 
longs to  a  genus  we  don't  often  see  up  here.  I'm  glad 
you  call  him  by  his  rightful  titles.  His  trust  seems  to 
me  the  most  unscrupulous  of  them  all." 

"It's  illegal  to  begin  with,"  Waring  said;  then,  walk- 
ing beside  her,  he  enlarged  on  the  subject,  going  back 
for  the  moment  into  that  world  of  affairs  where  in  the 
press  of  wide  human  interests  a  man  may  forget  for  a 
time  the  bitterest  heartache.  If  woman's  love  is  woman's 
whole  existence,  it  is  as  a  rule  because  her  existence  is 
so  narrow. 

386 


CHAPTER  XL. 


Professor  and  Mrs.  Sordello,  Waring  and  Perdita 
were  assembled  in  the  bemirrored  drawing-room,  await- 
ing the  President  and  his  guest.  Toward  John  Rebbor 
they  felt  something  of  the  curiosity  which  a  Martian 
suddenly  descended  to  this  planet  might  awaken.  The 
business  man  was  a  vara  avis  in  the  guest-book  of  Hall- 
worth,  a  chronicle  for  the  most  part  of  distinguished 
scholars.  That  the  head  of  a  notorious  trust  should  "visit 
the  University  was  an  event  fraught  with  dramatic  pos- 
sibilities in  the  line  of  contrasts.  Under  their  desultory 
conversation  each  of  the  four  was  secretly  wondering 
what  would  be  the  outward  appearance,  the  surface  char- 
acteristics of  this  man— responsible— if  report  were  to 
be  trusted— for  the  business  ruin  of  an  unholy  number 
of  his  fellows. 

Even  Waring  forgot  for  the  time  the  trouble  that 
filled  his  life  in  his  speculations  concerning  Rebbor. 
Such  a  man  seemed  to  him  a  criminal— only  distin- 
guished from  the  common  run  of  criminals  by  the  colos- 
sal proportions  of  his  crime.  That  the  United  States 
was  a  fertile  breeding-ground  for  men  of  his  type  was 
only  another  evidence,  he  thought,  that  the  original 
spirit  of  Washington's  country  had  perished  within  the 
swollen  body.  What  was  to  be  the  end  of  a  society 
where  such  organizations  as  Rebbor 's  trust  were  possi- 
ble?    Would  the   blood   mania  which  had  wiped   out 

387 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

Bourbon  France  and  the  sins  of  Bourbon  France  to- 
gether wipe  out  some  day  this  greater  tyranny  ? 

He  smiled  at  his  own  thoughts,  with  his  inevitable 
appreciation  of  both  sides  of  the  question— the  surest 
preventive  of  martyrdom!— the  martyrs,  of  whatever 
age,  being  sacrificed  to  one  fixed  idea.* 

The  two  presidents  entered.  The  President  of  the 
University  introduced  the  president  of  a  trust. 

Waring,  his  introduction  over,  was  conscious  of  dis- 
appointment that  the  magnate 's  appearance  should  be  so 
normal.  He  had  expected  he  scarcely  knew  what,  cer- 
tainly not  this  man  in  conventional  evening-dress;  his 
keen,  almost  ascetic  face  betraying  the  attrition  of 
thought;  this  man  who  seemed  rather  shy  and  nervous 
in  the  presence  of  his  hostess. 

Why  was  he  visiting  the  President?  Waring  knew 
that  previous  to  this  visit  they  had  been  unacquainted. 
Did  he  wish  to  buy  up  Hallworth,  making  himself  a  sec- 
ond founder  f    Perish  the  thought ! 

But  disjointed  speculation  came  to  an  end  with  the 
announcement  of  dinner.  The  President,  giving  his  arm 
to  Mrs.  Sordello,  followed  Perdita  and  the  guest  of 
honor,  Sordello  bringing  up  the  rear  with  Waring,  who 
was  thankful  that  the  women  were  in  the  minority. 
Since  Barbara  had  filled  his  life  he  had  found  it  difficult 
to  be  with  them  long  without  betraying  his  preoccupa- 
tion. 

"What  do  you  think  of  him?"  Sordello  asked,  in  Inf- 
low, guttural  voice. 

"Not  the  roaring  lion  I  expected." 

' '  His  quiet  is  more  ominous. ' ' 

They  sat  down  to  a  round  table,  drawing  them  into  a 
388 


"THE    OUTRAGEOUS    JOHN    REBBOR" 

circle  which  promised  ultimate  coziness  if  all  went  well. 
Perdita  was  asking  Rebbor  if  he  had  been  through  any 
of  the  buildings. 

"Only  into  your  art-musuem, ' '  he  replied  in  a  clear- 
cut  voice,  which  betrayed  a  culture  as  genuine  as  that 
which  Hallworth  offered,  but  from  a  far  different  source. 

"Mr.  Rebbor  wished  to  compare  a  Luini  in  his  col- 
lection with  the  one  in  ours, ' '  the  President  said. 

"After  seeing  it  I  am  convinced  that  his  'Holy  Fam- 
ily' in  my  collection  is  a  copy.  I  have  not  had  the  leis- 
ure," he  added,  with  an  apologetic  smile,  "to  make  a 
deep  enough  study  of  such  matters  to  stand  on  sure 
ground. ' ' 

"Oh,  as  for  that,"  Sordello  said,  "even  professed 
connoisseurs  are  sometimes  deceived.  I  knew  a  man  in 
Madrid  who  had  devoted  his  life  to  Murillo,  yet  was 
tripped  up  at  last  on  a  technicality,  and  found  himself  a 
whole  fortune  out  of  pocket. ' ' 

"A  costly  mistake!"  Waring  said. 

He  was  wondering  whether  this  financier  had  any 
real  knowledge  and  love  of  art,  or  whether  he  bought 
up  pictures  as  he  bought  up  stocks,  to  realize  his  power. 
Had  he  come  to  the  University  solely  for  the  purpose  of 
seeing  its  Luini  1    Waring  thought  not. 

"Are  you  especially  fond  of  Luini?"  Mrs.  Sordello 
asked,  in  her  full,  matronly  voice. 

' '  To  me  he  has  all  the  grace  of  Leonardo,  without  his 
unpleasant— what  shall  I  call  it?  Well,  I  think  the  ex- 
asperating smile  of  Mona  Lisa  sums  it  up, ' '  he  answered, 
his  shyness  evidently  dissolving  under  the  warmth  of  a 
congenial  subject. 

The  President  laughed. 

389 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

"So  you  find  that  lady  exasperating!  I  have  never 
had  the  courage  to  say  what  I  really  thought  of  her,  lest 
I  should  be  thrust  into  outer  darkness." 

"You  don't  like  her?"  Perdita  asked. 

"She  spoils  the  Salon  Carre  for  me!" 

Perdita  turned  to  Rebbor  with  an  air  of  gay  com- 
mand. 

"Now  that  you  have  confessed  you  must  give  your 
reasons.  Is  she  too  mysterious,  too  suggestive  of  der 
ewige  Weibliche  t ' ' 

"I  do  not  understand  German,"  Rebbor  said  simply. 

"Is  she— too  feline?" 

1 '  That 's  the  word.  Now,  that  cat-look  isn  't  in  Luini  's 
women.  They  are  sweet,  simple  creatures,  full  of  grace, 
yet  gentle." 

Waring  listened  with  astonishment.  This  man,  him- 
self a  monstrous  and  tricky  Grimalkin  hunting  down  the 
little  mice  called  men,  was  incredible  as  a  champion  of 
simplicity  and  gentleness. 

"Is  your  collection  large,  Mr.  Rebbor?"  Mrs.  Sor- 
dello  asked. 

"Very  small.  It  is  entirely  made  up  of  the  Old 
Masters.  I  only  began  to  form  it  ten  years  ago  when 
on  a  forced  vacation  abroad. ' ' 

"Have  you  had  a  guiding  principle  in  selecting  it?" 
Waring  asked. 

The  great  man  smiled. 

"Aside  from  Luini,  I  am  fond  of  the  Venetian 
painters,  especially  of  Giorgione,  but  I  have  never  been 
able  to  procure  one  of  his  works. ' ' 

"Why  do  you  like  Giorgione  especially?"  Waring 
390 


"THE    OUTRAGEOUS    JOHN    REBBOR" 

asked,  conscious  that  his  questioning  might  hold  an  ele- 
ment of  discourtesy,  yet  unable  to  resist  the  tempta- 
tion. 

John  Rebbor  fingered  his  salt-cellar  a  moment  before 
answering.  He  seemed  to  have  sudden  accessions  of  shy- 
ness, as  if  realizing  his  position  among  the  avowedly 
academic. 

/'You  know  'The  Concert'  in  the  Pitti?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  it  was  that  picture  that  first  made  me  take  an 
interest  in  Giorgione— not  wholly  artistic,  either.  You 
remember  the  central  figure,  the  monk  at  the  harpsi- 
chord?" 

"Very  well." 

"Something  in  his  face  drew  me  and  I  used  to  go 
and  look  at  him  every  day.  He  seemed  to  be  wanting  a 
lot  of  things  he  didn't  have.  I  used  to  wish  I  could  ask 
him  just  what  they  were.  I  got  friendly  with  him.  You 
know  how  you  do  with  a  picture." 

He  delivered  his  sentences  with  little,  abrupt  pauses 
between.  Perdita,  charmed  with  this  naive  self-revela- 
tion from  such  a  source,  made  a  challenging  comment. 

"To  me  it's  the  face  of  a  poet,  and  I  suppose  poets 
are  never  satisfied.  In  any  case  it 's  not  a  modern  face ; 
perhaps  that 's  the  reason  it  appeals  to  us. ' ' 

John  Rebbor 's  eyes  lit  up. 

' '  That 's  it !    It 's  not  an  American  face. ' ' 

"I  suppose  you  might  still  find  such  eyes  in  some 
dreaming  monastery  of  the  Appenines,"  Dr.  Hunt  said; 
"but  not  in  this  country.    We  all  see  too  clearly !" 

The  faint  note  of  irony  caught  Rebbor 's  attention. 

"You  think  that's  it?  I  guess  you're  right.  Any- 
391 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

way,  we  parted  friends,  the  monk  and  I,  and  I've  liked 
Giorgione  ever  since. ' " 

His  voice  was  sincere.  Waring  wondered  what  mys- 
terious current  of  deep-buried  feeling  had  drawn  this 
far-scheming  financier  to  Giorgione 's  monk,  with  his 
wistful  look,  like  a  sigh  from  the  Middle  Ages.  He 
thought  of  John  Rebbor  sitting  in  the  Pitti  Palace  be- 
fore the  picture,  oblivious  for  the  time  of  accumulating 
millions,  conscious  only  of  his  desire  to  question  a  strange 
and  haunting  face.  Was  it  possible  for  a  man  to  have 
two  distinct  personalities?  No;  human  nature  was 
single. 

1 '  Mr.  Waring,  may  I  ask  your  first  name  ? ' ' 

Rebbor  was  bending  toward  him,  studying  him  in- 
tently with  his  keen  gray  eyes. 

"Richard." 

"Are  you  the  Richard  Waring  who  reported  for  the 
New  York  Eagle  in  the  Spanish  War  1 ' ' 

"I  had  that  privilege." 

"I  am  glad  of  this  chance  to  congratulate  you.  I 
used  to  read  your  reports  in  preference  to  those  of  any 
other  paper.    But  how  comes  it  that  you V 

He  paused,  drawing  back  from  the  brink  of  a  social 
discourtesy,  but  the  question  was  in  his  eyes— "Why  are 
you  in  a  university,  you  who  had  such  a  chance  in  the 
world?" 

Perdita  threw  herself  into  the  breach. 

"Mr.  Waring  does  not  believe  in  the  monastic  ideal 
of  a  university.    We  suspect  him  of  wooing  two  worlds." 

"He  has  placed  his  talents  at  Hall  worth's  service," 
Dr.  Hunt  said  graciously.  "You  probably  know  College 
and  State." 

392 


"THE    OUTRAGEOUS    JOHN    REBBOR" 

"I  have  seen  it  quoted.  Is  it  your  magazine,  Mr. 
Waring?" 

"We  started  it  two  years  ago,"  Waring  said  simply. 
' '  Some  of  us  thought  it  a  good  plan  to  have  an  organ  that 
might  voice  the  University's  interest  in  political  ques- 
tions. ' ' 

"Tell  me  more  of  it.  Are  the  young  men  of  Hall- 
worth  interested  in  politics  as  a  rule?" 

He  continued  to  question  Waring  until  he  had  pos- 
sessed himself  of  a  fair  knowledge  of  the  matter.  Then 
he  turned  the  subject  to  another  aspect  of  university  life, 
as  if  he  had  suddenly  locked  up  his  newly  acquired  in- 
formation. 

In  the  conversation  that  followed  Waring  noticed 
hew  Rebbor  steered  away  from  any  subject  that  might 
remotely  touch  upon  his  own  enormous  place  in  the  econ- 
omy of  the  country.  His  attitude  toward  himself  was  as 
unobtrusive  as  his  garments.  He  seemed  like  one  who 
had  always  asked  questions— never  answered  them. 

Waring 's  prejudice  against  him  as  a  Titanic  thief 
was  weakening  under  the  quiet  pressure  of  his  appar- 
ently simple  personality.  Was  this  effect  but  an  epitome 
of  other  greater  effects?  Did  he  gain  his  huge  ends  by 
that  same  stillness  and  tenacity  of  purpose? 

They  went  into  the  drawing-room  for  coffee,  gather- 
ing about  the  wood  fire  in  a  circle  that  appealed  to  Per- 
dita's  sense  of  humor  by  the  contrast  of  its  innocent  ap- 
pearance with  the  importance  of  the  units  which  it  held. 
John  Rebbor,  sipping  his  coffee,  into  which  he  had  put 
two  lumps  of  sugar,  looked  as  harmless  as  a  highly  es- 
teemed leading  citizen  of  some  little  town. 

"I  like  your  collection  of  mirrors,"  he  said  to 
393 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

Perdita,  after  gazing  about  the  room.  "Pictures  never 
satisfy  everybody— but  mirrors !" 

He  rose  to  examine  some  of  the  frames  more  closely. 
His  movements  were  quiet— deliberate  to  slowness.  The 
others,  under  the  spell  of  his  personality,  watched  him  in 
silence  as  he  went  from  mirror  to  mirror,  sometimes 
touching  a  frame  with  his  tapering  fingers. 

He  came  back  to  talk  with  Perdita  concerning  some 
places  in  Italy  which  they  both  knew.  He  seemed  most 
at  his  ease  when,  metaphorically,  across  the  Atlantic. 
Waring  wondered  if  too  many  avenging  ghosts  haunted 
these  shores. 

After  a  while  there  was  a  general  movement  for  de- 
parture.   It  was  then  that  Perdita  whispered  to  Waring. 

"Stay  after  the  others  go,  please.  I  have  something 
to  tell  you. ' ' 

He  wondered  if  she  would  tell  him  the  object  of 
Rebbor's  visit.  Throughout  the  evening  he  had  felt  that 
she  knew  perfectly  the  ground  on  which  she  was  tread- 
ing. 

When  all  but  Waring  had  taken  their  leave  she  came 
again  to  the  fire  and  leaned  back  in  a  low  chair  with  lazy 
grace.  The  brown  chiffon  dress  which  she  wore  brought 
out  the  dead-leaf  color  of  her  eyes.  In  her  hair  was  a 
touch  of  scarlet. 

"Please  put  on  another  loglet.  Then  tell  me  what 
you  think  of  him." 

"No;  you  tell  me  first.  You  have  the  advantage  of 
me,  for  you  sat  by  him." 

Perdita  smiled. 

"Our  monster  wears  an  orchid  in  his  buttonhole, 
394 


"THE    OUTRAGEOUS    JOHN   REBBOR" 

loses  his  heart  to  Giorgione's  monk,  loves  the  Venetians 
and  likes  sweets." 

1 '  But  that  isn  't  telling  me  what  you  think  of  him ! ' ' 

''He  is  not  a  thief.  He's  a  gambler.  He  gambles 
with  that  trust  of"  his  as  Napoleon  gambled  with  cam- 
paigns. ' ' 

"Is  his  guilt  any  the  less?" 

"Yes,  I  think  it  is.  Here  we  get  in  the  habit  of 
thinking  that  all  forms  of  self-expression  must  be  lit- 
erary or  artistic.  That  man  is  a  creator,  almost  a  seer. 
I  don't  think  he  deliberately  robs  people.  Everything 
weak  goes  down  under  the  force  of  his  energy— that's 
all!" 

"You  mean  if  you  get  in  the  way  of  an  avalanche 
you'll  get  hurt." 

"He's  rather  too  subtle  for  an  avalanche.  I'd  say 
lightning. ' ' 

"What's  he  here  for?" 

"I've  had  permission  to  tell  you.  Wait!— you  may 
need  soothing." 

She  rose  and  took  a  cut-glass  cigarette  jar  from  a 
cabinet. 

"You  smoke  cigarettes?" 

"Not  often,  but  I  will  now  with  your  permission.  I 
suspect  that  he  didn't  come  to  Hallworth  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  brooding  over  our  Luini. ' ' 

1 '  No,  hardly.    He  wants  to- make  us  rich. ' ' 

"You  mean  he's  going  to  give  some  money  to  the 
University ! ' ' 

"Just  a  little  sum— three  millions." 

Waring  drew  a  long  breath. 

"But  there's  a  condition  attached,"  she  added. 
395 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

" There  always  is  when  one  sells  one's  soul  to  the 
devil." 

"Don't  call  him  names.  I've  only  ceased  to  be  his 
hostess  ten  minutes." 

"What's  the  condition?" 

1 '  That  he  be  made  a  trustee  of  the  University. ' ' 

"What  colossal " 

Waring  broke  off  for  want  of  an  adequate  word. 

"The  gift's  colossal." 

"It's  sheer  bribery.  Does  he  want  to  own  the  Uni- 
versity ? ' ' 

Perdita  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"'What  do  you  think  of  it?  Does  the  proposition 
appeal  to  you?" 

"Not  in  the  least,"  Waring  said  gravely.  "I  think 
wealth  made  as  his  has  been  could  only  do  harm  to  any 
man  or  institution  that  fell  heir  to  it." 

"Now  if  I  said  that  I'd  be  accused  of  the  emotional 
feminine  bias." 

' '  It  seems  to  me  a  matter  of  fact. ' ' 

They  were  silent  for  a  moment,  then  Waring  asked : 

"What  are  his  reasons?  Why  has  he  selected  Hall- 
worth  ?    Is  his  motive  vanity,  do  you  think  ? ' ' 

1 '  I  think  he  wants  to  be  in  the  fashion. ' ' 

"When  is  his  offer  to  be  made  public?" 

"At  the  next  Faculty  meeting,  I  believe.  May  I  ask 
on  which  side  you  will^ast  your  vote?" 

"Against  the  acceptance  of  the  gift.  It's  an  affront 
to  the  memory  of  John  Hallworth." 

"But  if  John  Hallworth  lived  now  he  couldn't  be- 
come rich." 

"No,"  Waring  said,  with  a  touch  of  youthful  bitter- 
396 


"THE    OUTRAGEOUS    JOHN    REBBOR" 

ness.     "It  calls  for  less  sterling  qualities  than  he  pos- 
sessed.   He  wasn't  a  clever  man— he  was  merely  honest." 

Perdita  smiled,  noting  his  thoughtful,  almost  somber 
gaze  into  the  depths  of  the  wood  fire.  Throughout  this 
conversation  he  had  talked  to  her  as  if  she  had  been  an- 
other man,  a  good  comrade,  scarcely  ever  glancing  her 
way.  This  complete  indifference  to  her  as  a  woman  told 
her  much.  She  wondered  how  far  he  would  submit  to 
her  wooing.    Yet  his  preoccupation  did  not  displease  her. 

' '  The  President 's  idea  is  that  the  good  Hallworth  can 
do  with  the  money  will  counterbalance  the  evils  of  its 
source.  He  acknowledges  those,  but  he's  too  matter-of- 
fact  to  believe  in  a  curse  with  a  capital  C.  He  leaves 
such  fancies  to  the  idealists  like  you  and  me." 

Waring  smiled. 

' '  Are  you  an  idealist  f ' ' 

"When  nobody's  looking." 

"I  wonder  why  we're  all  so  afraid  of  being  put  in 
that  category?  I  suppose  it  suggests  long  hair  and  a 
limited  supply  of  collars.  By  the  way,  how  faultlessly 
our  friend  was  dressed.  Do  you  know  whether  he  began 
his  career  by  sweeping  out  a  store?" 

"I  suppose  so.  They  all  do,"  Perdita  said  lightly. 
"Tell  me,  do  you  think  you'll  dare  oppose  the  wishes  of 
this  man  !  " 

1 '  I  shall  vote  against  his  gift,  yes. ' ' 

1 '  Good !    I  told  the  President  you  would. ' ' 

"He  has  me  down,  no  doubt,  for* an  addled  dreamer." 

Perdita  smiled. 

"We  are  all  that,  put  over  against  his— what  shall  I 
call  it?  Well,  I'm  not  lucid,  but  it's  the  something  that 
makes  him  Dr.  Hunt ! ' ' 

397 


THE    LAW    OF    LIFE 

They  were  silent  again,  both  absorbed  in  watching  the 
dancing  flames.  Then  Perdita  spoke,  first  making  sure 
that  the  light  of  humor  was  put  out  in  her  eyes. 

"Mrs.  Cartwright  is  giving  a  new  kind  of  entertain- 
ment next  week.  The  women  invite  the  men.  Will  you 
accept  my  invitation !  I  ask  you  now,  remembering  how 
scornful  you  are  of  your  mail. ' ' 

He  hesitated,  the  shadow  in  his  eyes  deepening. 

1 '  I  ought  to  give  up  everything  this  winter  to  do  jus- 
tice to  my  work." 

"But  we  refuse  to  give  you  up,"  she  said  archly. 
"You  accept  my  invitation?" 

He  forced  a  smile. 

"With  pleasure." 


398 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

THE  NEGATION  OF  THE  WILL-TO-BE. 

One  by  one  Barbara  found  the  outlets  of  life  closed 
to  her.  Her  command  to  herself  and  Waring  that  they 
should  guard  their  very  thoughts  of  each  other,  what- 
ever it  meant  to  him,  was  to  her  an  iron  door  shutting 
out  light  and  air.  Emptying  her  soul  of  him,  she  had 
nothing  to  put  in  his  place.  Some  days  she  wished  that 
she  and  her  husband  were  so  poor  that  she  should  be 
obliged  to  work  with  her  hands.  Some  days  she  longed 
for  physical  illness,  that  in  it  she  might  forget  her  men- 
tal pain. 

Dr.  Penfold  had  settled  to  his  work,  avid  of  new 
achievements.  The  machinery  of  the  University  was 
fully  started.  The  social  season  had  begun.  Was  this 
year  to  be  a  type  of  all  the  dreary  years  to  follow? 
Must  she  watch  others  live,  develop,  while  she  remained 
in  a  trance  of  hopelessness  ? 

"Thou  shalt  not"  obstructed  every  thoroughfare. 
She  was  learning  how  exquisite  is  the  torment  of  nega- 
tion. 

Her  withdrawal  from  Waring  produced  in  her  the 
desire  to  withdraw  from  the  other  members  of  her  little 
world.  The  Emperor,  Elizabeth,  Allaire,  Dutton,  Mrs. 
Maturin,  Mrs.  Joyce,  each  seemed  to  her  only  a  person 
who  was  not  Waring.  Under  her  surface  courtesy  toward 
them  was  an  indifference  which  not  one  of  them  could 
26  399 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

be  with  her  long  without  feeling.  The  Emperor  alone 
perceived  that,  a  crisis  of  some  nature  being  passed,  Bar- 
bara was  seeking  safety  in  nothingness. 

This  indifference,  in  its  essence  a  suspension  of  life, 
gave  to  her  a  certain  calm  of  bearing  which  seemed  to 
deny  malicious  whispers.  Gossip  concerning  Barbara 
and  Waring  had  not  originated  on  the  campus— where 
the  esprit  de  corps  of  Perdita's  reminder  was  as  a  rule 
effective — but  from  the  townsfolk,  not  always  appreci- 
ative of  academic  exemptness.  That  Dr.  Penfold  should 
neglect  his  young  wife  was  natural— she  should  not  have 
married  a  scholar  so  much  older  than  herself.  That  War- 
ing should  seek  her  society  was  natural— he  was  young; 
besides  men  are  always  at  liberty  to  take  what  a  woman 
offers.  The  full  blame  of  the  situation  fell  thus  upon 
Barbara. 

As  society  is  not  constructed  in  bulkheads,  the  whis- 
pers of  the  townsfolk  reached  ears  on  the  campus;  the 
growing  stream  seeking  the  most  open  channels,  only 
turned  in  its  course  when  meeting  some  perfect  obstacle 
such  as  Perdita's  humor  or  Mrs.  Maturin's  calm  and 
active  incredulity. 

Meanwhile  Barbara,  having  renounced  the  highest 
gift  of  being,  the  love  which  in  one  divine  moment  she 
had  recognized  as  the  law  of  life,  sought  to  forget  the 
light.  She  filled  up  her  days  as  best  she  could  with 
household  duties,  with  the  planning  of  clothes,  with  long 
walks,  always  taken  in  unfamiliar  places. 

One  dreary  afternoon  in  November,  when  a  persist- 
ent, whining  rain  shut  out  the  hills  and  shut  in  her  soul, 
the  house  becoming  unbearable,  she  thought  of  the  li- 
brary as  a  refuge.    She  would  climb  to  its  highest  stack, 

400 


THE  NEGATION  OF  THE  WILL-TO-BE 

possess  herself  of  a  book  and  a  window  and  seek  a  few 
moments  of  oblivion. 

She  made  her  journey  quickly  without  encountering 
any  familiar  members  of  her  world.  As  she  went  from 
stack  to  stack,  the  silent  rows  of  books  seemed  to  her 
more  friendly,  more  intelligible  than  human  beings.  In 
their  society  she  could  be  herself.  Without  being  per- 
sonal, they  preserved  the  personal  element,  the  clearest 
thoughts,  the  sincerest  emotions  of  the  men  and  women 
who  had  given  birth  to  them. 

Though  she  did  not  know  it  the  love  of  the  grave 
was  upon  her  in  this  her  hour  of  rejection,  drawing  her 
to  the  abstract.  Since  she  could  not  have  the  real  she 
would  content  herself  with  these  rich  shadows. 

She  took  from  the  shelves  a  volume  of  philosophy 
which  would  require  the  closest  attention  to  read  it  intel- 
ligently. Then  she  settled  herself  in  a  high  window-seat 
overlooking  the  lake,  her  feet  on  a  chair,  the  book  on 
her  knees.  She  pressed  her  cheek  against  the  cold  pane, 
gazing  out  for  a  moment  over  the  rain-drenched  campus. 
Haunted  and  holy  ground !  Whatever  her  love  for  War- 
ing had  become,  she  could  not  forget  that  it  was  once 
innocent,  spontaneous,  childlike.  The  places  where  they 
had  been  together  were  forever  hallowed. 

She  turned  to  her  book,  but  the  tears  in  her  eyes  shut 
out  the  page.  She  brushed  them  away  and  began  to 
read.  The  volume  was  one  of  Schopenhauer's.  She  was 
unacquainted  with  his  writings,  but  not  with  his  philos- 
ophy, to  which  her  uncle  had  introduced  her.  Then  she 
had  received  it  intellectually.  It  had  not  penetrated  to 
her  spiritual  consciousness.  Now,  as  so  often  happens, 
life  interpreted  knowledge.    As  she  read  she  felt  herself 

401 


THE    LAW    OF    LIFE 

drawn  by  some  mysterious  current  of  sympathy  to  this 
writer,  who  above  all  men  had  felt  the  full  fascination 
of  the  negative ;  who  had  made  a  bride  of  darkness. 

The  negation  of  the  Will-to-Be!  Was  not  this  the 
solution  of  life,  even  for  those  to  whom  the  raptures  of 
love  were  lawful?  Would  it  not  be  at  last  exquisite 
relief  to  leave  the  never  satisfied  passion  in  the  paradisal 
garden,  passing  from  its  heat  and  light  and  color  into  a 
cold  and  night-enveloped  world?  To  cease  to  feel,  to 
cease  to  desire,  to  leave  a  universe  where  the  kiss  was 
followed  by  the  pangs  of  parturition,  was  not  this  the 
only  goal  ? 

Calm  possessed  her  for  the  moment.  She  would  set 
out  at  once,  she  thought,  upon  this  pilgrimage  whose  end 
was  extinction.  She  would  devote  her  life  to  the  giving- 
up  of  life. 

Footsteps  in  the  stack  were  drawing  nearer  to  her. 
Perceval  came  toward  her  with  the  look  of  genuine  pleas- 
ure which  always  lit  up  his  face  on  meeting  her.  Bar- 
bara was  glad  that  it  was  Perceval  and  no  one  else.  The 
consciousness  that  this  man  in  some  way  had  suffered 
put  her,  as  it  put  many  others,  at  ease  in  his  presence. 

Toward  Barbara  Perceval  felt  a  peculiar  gentleness. 
The  circumstances  of  her  marriage,  her  friendship  with 
Waring,  and  of  late  the  impossible  reports  which  had 
reached  his  ears,  all  combined  to  awaken  his  interest  in 
her ;  an  interest  not  without  its  desire  to  protect. 

Something  in  her  attitude  now  told  him  that  she  was 
in  trouble.  Her  eyes  turned  toward  him  were  large,  un- 
consciously appealing. 

"What  are  you  reading,  Mrs.  Penfold?" 

' '  Schopenhauer. ' ' 

402 


THE   NEGATION   OF  THE  WILL-TO-BE 

"He  is  not  enlivening  on  such  a  gloomy  day.  I 
should  recommend  only  novels  in  November." 

She  smiled. 

"He  was  making  me  feel  quite  peaceful.  I  like  his 
philosophy— the  very  little  I  know  of  it." 

"It  rests  the-  eyes  sometimes.  Schopenhauer  is  my 
dark  room. ' ' 

"So  you  like  him,  too— even  though "  She  hesi- 
tated. 

"Even  though  I  am  pledged  to  optimism?  Perhaps 
for  that  very  reason." 

He  studied  her  face  for  a  moment  with  his  pene- 
trating gaze,  which  always  seemed  impersonal,  as  if  he 
were  searching  for  the  abstract  in  the  concrete. 

1  *  You  are  fond  of  fairy-tales, ' '  he  said,  with  the  tone 
of  a  final  statement. 

'  ■  Indeed,  yes.    How  did  you  know ! ' ' 

He  smiled,  but  only  returned  a  question. 

"Have  you  seen  some  of  the  new  volumes  in  the 
folk-lore  section  1  They  are  delightful.  If  you  will  come 
with  me,  I  will  show  them  to  you. ' ' 

He  took  the  Schopenhauer  from  her  hands  gently. 
Barbara  thought  of  the  evening  when  Perdita  had  read 
her  ' '  The  Princess  and  the  Wild  Swans. ! ' 

Perceval  led  her  to  a  stack  on  a  lower  floor.  Nor  did 
he  leave  her  until  he  had  seen  her  safely  in  another  nook 
with  a  volume  on  her  lap. 

"Don't  go  back  to  the  other  stack,"  he  said  kindly, 
as  he  took  his  leave;  "it  is  cold  up  there— and  too  far 
away  from  everybody." 

A  look  in  his  eyes  gave  a  deeper  meaning  to  his 
simple  words.    Did  he  understand  ! 

403 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

The  fairy-tales  did  for  her  what  Schopenhauer  could 
not  do.  She  forgot  for  the  time  being  the  misery  of 
her  existence  in  that  world  where  forgotten  castles  for- 
ever face  on  magic  seas,  their  towers  lit  with  dawns 
supernal. 

"You  should  not  read  in  this  dim  light." 

His  voice  seemed  to  come  to  her  from  the  purple 
horizons  over  which  the  castles  reigned.  She  looked  up 
bewildered.  Waring  stood  beside  her.  In  the  glare  of 
the  electric  light,  which  he  had  turned  on,  his  face 
seemed  worn  and  tired,  yet  held  a  certain  cheerfulness, 
an  impersonal  expression,  assumed,  it  might  be,  for  the 
privilege  of  speaking  to  her.  He  began  abruptly,  as  if 
fearing  pauses. 

"Has  Dr.  Penfold  told  you  of  Rebbor's  proposed 
gift?" 

"No,  he  has  said  nothing,"  she  answered,  forcing 
herself  to  look  at  him  calmly,  as  if  he  might  be  any  one 


"What  is  it?    Something  to  do  with  Hallworth?" 

Then  he  told  her  everything  concerning  the  matter, 
the  details  converging  toward  his  own  ultimate  part  in  it. 
As  he  related  the  incidents  of  Perdita's  dinner  Barbara 
felt  that,  whatever  course  of  future  conduct  they  had  de- 
cided upon,  he  was  still  passionately  desirous  that  she 
should  know  the  intimate  and  daily  circumstances  of  his 
life.    They  could  not  be  his  until  they  were  hers. 

He  prolonged  his  story,  finding  the  relief  in  the  mere 
telling  of  it  that  other  lovers  find  in  avowal.  He  should 
still  be  hers  in  their  very  denials. 

His  account  of  the  Faculty  meeting  aroused  her  inter- 
404 


THE  NEGATION  OF  THE  WILL-TO-BE 

est  to  the  degree  that  she  forgot  for  the  time  being  her 
fear  of  his  eyes. 

A  strong  opposition  existed  against  Rebbor's  trus- 
teeship. Waring,  at  the  head  of  it,  had  made  a  speech, 
which  the  President  had  answered  with  cool  and  cutting 
arguments. 

"I  am  literally  slashed,"  he  said,  in  conclusion. 
"But  I  still  think  I  am  right." 

"Is  it  decided?" 

"Nothing  will  be  decided  until  after  the  first  of  the 
year.  It  is  Rebbor's  wish— he's  crafty  as  a  fox— that 
Hallworth  should  take  its  time  in  considering  his  offer. ' ' 

"Then  there  is  still  opportunity  for  a  campaign?" 
she  said  lightly. 

"It  will  have  to  be  a  secret  one.  The  matter  has  not 
been  made  public." 

"So  you  are  not  discussing  it  in  College  and  State?" 

"Oh,  no!" 

Unconsciously  her  near  presence  was  overthrowing 
his  self-command.  The  look  in  his  eyes  worshiped  her. 
She  turned  her  head  away  as  she  said : 

"Is  this  trust  so  very  wicked?  I  know  nothing  of 
such  matters." 

"May  I  send  you  some  books  to-morrow?  Dry 
enough  for  the  most  part,  but  they'll  throw  light,  per- 


"Yes,  send  them.  I  want  something— to  read!  I 
had  Schopenhauer  this  afternoon,  but  Mr.  Perceval  took 
it  from  me,  and  gave  me  this  instead. ' ' 

He  bent  .over  her,  turned  a  page,  touched  her  hand  in 
turning  it.  She  rose  at  once,  facing  him  with  miserable 
eyes.    His,  as  miserable,  gazed  back  at  her. 

405 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

1 ' I  must  go, ' '  she  said  faintly ;  "it  is  late. ' ' 

He  bowed,  his  eyes  asking  forgiveness,  comprehen- 
sion. 

"I  will  send  the  books  to-morrow." 

She  made  her  way  to  the  house,  unconscious  of  the 
buffeting  wind  and  rain.  If  these  were  the  steps  to  ne- 
gation, you  might  go  mad  before  you  reached  that  night- 
enveloped  goal. 

The  house  was  not  yet  lighted.  She  went  directly  to 
her  room,  sinking  down  in  perfect  fatigue  of  spirit  by 
her  bed.    A  bitter,  voiceless  cry  went  up  from  her. 

' '  Oh,  my  youth !    My  youth ! ' ' 


406 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

THE  ORDER  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 

When  Perdita's  invitation  to  dinner  was  followed 
by  other  overtures,  as  caressing  in  their  friendliness  to 
Waring  as  the  brushing  of  a  flower  against  his  cheek,  he 
began  to  wonder  what  were  her  reasons  in  seeking  him. 
A  woman  who  never  acted  on  impulse  would  be  the  last 
to  obey  an  impulse  of  liking.  Had  she  not  been  Perdita  he 
would  have  refused  to  obey  the  summons,  dominated  as 
he  was  by  the  monastic  spirit  of  an  absorbing  passion. 
But  to  her  impersonal  and  winning  cleverness  he  could 
safely  commit  even  his  outrageous  preoccupation.  That 
she  was  seeking  him  for  his  own  sake  he  did  not  for  a 
moment  believe,  being  with  all  his  dramatic  imagination 
a  man  nearly  devoid  of  vanity. 

He  saw  that  his  grudging  acceptance  of  her  invita- 
tions amused  her,  so  his  conscience  ceased  to  trouble  him, 
since  only  the  amused  in  this  world  are  masters  of  situa- 
tions. Giving  himself  up  to  her  evident  wishes,  he  found 
compensations  in  her  rare  type  of  friendliness,  always 
bringing  to  the  surface  in  others  gifts  they  did  not  know 
they  possessed.  So  with  her  charm,  her  appreciation  of 
his  moods,  her  pardon  of  his  sins,  of  omission,  she  filled 
up  the  ugly  pause  in  which  he  was  living,  and  which  he 
knew  could  not  endure. 

Barbara  must  be  approached,  must  be  familiarized 
with  the  fact  that  there  is  nothing  disgraceful  or  wrong 

407 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

in  severing  an  unnatural  marriage  with  the  sword  of  the 
law;  but  all  disgrace  in  continuing  in  such  a  union. 

He  had  reached  the  stage  of  meeting  the  details.  She 
should  tell  Dr.  Penfold,  calmly  and  reasonably,  the 
whole  truth  of  the  matter.  Some  part  of  the  tragedy, 
as  she  should  unfold  it,  must  be  already  known  to  him ; 
at  least  her  ignorance,  as  he  supposed,  of  the  significance 
of  marriage.  After  the  revelation  what  remained  would 
not  be  difficult  in  an  age  of  legal  elasticity ;  a  separation, 
proceedings  quietly  put  through,  then ! 

Positions  in  other  universities  were  at  his  command; 
universities  not  perhaps  in  Hallworth's  class,  but  shel- 
ters for  the  year  of  obscurity  which  Barbara  might  de- 
mand. Or,  giving  up  the  academic  life  altogether,  they 
could  go  abroad,  and  live  there  on  the  fifteen  hundred 
from  his  uncle's  estate,  supplemented  by  the  proceeds  of 
his  writings.  Some  days  in  the  very  idleness  of  his  despair 
he  went  so  far  as  to  furnish  a  villa  on  the  slopes  of  Fie- 
sole,  an  embowered  place  haunted  with  other,  earlier 
loves,  beautiful  with  the  beauty  of  dead  years.  How  well 
her  austere  loveliness  would  blend  with  Italy,  passion- 
ately beloved  country,  hiding  under  its  wealth  of  flowers 
the  graves  of  immemorial  peoples. 

These  were  the  visions  of  midnight.  When  day  broke, 
the  veil,  with  its  embroidery  of  strange  towers  and 
twisted  olive-trees,  was  lifted.  Behind  it  he  saw  himself, 
not  a  lover  in  a  country  of  romance,  but  a  mean  crea- 
ture, a  man  betrayed  by  passion  into  dishonor.  He 
began  to  dread  the  sanity  of  his  morning  hours. 

But  when,  the  long  day  of  work  over,  fatigue  and 
loneliness,  waiting  on  the  threshold  of  his  house  of  life, 
entered  and  bound  him  hand  and  foot,  he  gave  himself 

408 


THE    ORDER    OF   FRIENDSHIP 

without  struggle  to  that  future  with  Barbara.  Dear 
woman!  he  sometimes  wished  that  she  were  not  so  dear, 
so  kind,  so  homelike.  If  his  feeling  for  her  were  but  the 
flaring  up  of  blind  passion  there  might  be  hope— hope  of 
the  sudden  dying  of  the  flame;  but  this  was  the  tragic 
entanglement  of  souls ;  not  alone  the  rapture  from  which 
the  universe  springs,  but  the  quiet  content  of  the  hearth- 
side. 

Perdita's  intermittent  diversion  of  his  thoughts 
served  to  render  his  days  less  interminable,  but  it  could 
not  aid  him  in  the  solution  of  his  problems.  With  all 
his  spirit  of  good  and  open  comradeship,  perhaps  just 
because  of  it,  a  proud  reserve  was  the  very  essence  of  his 
nature.  With  the  dear  exception  of  Barbara,  the  wife 
of  his  soul,  he  had  never  talked  freely  to  anyone.  To  his 
understanding  the  confessional  was  as  inexplicable  as  it 
was  foolish. 

Yet  during  this  time  of  suspense  between  hope  and 
despair  he  found  himself  often  taking  his  way  to  Per- 
ceval's rectory,  drawn  there  by  no  sense  of  his  office 
and  ministry,  but  by  the  consciousness  that  this  man  had 
once  known  pain,  perhaps  knew  it  yet.  Whatever  his 
past,  good  or  evil,  it  had  become  sacramental  to  others. 

So  it  happened  that  his  visits  became  almost  daily  oc- 
currences. Sometimes  returning  from  the  performance 
of  some  parochial  duty,  the  priest  would  find  him  by  the 
study  fire,  with  a  book  in  his  hand,  or  oftener  absorbed 
in  thought.  That  Waring  was  in  trouble,  was  fighting 
some  battle  with  himself,  was  evident.  With  the  nature, 
the  cause  of  this  struggle,  Perceval  was  not  concerned. 
Of  a  temperament  singularly  susceptible  to  fine  grada- 
tions of  thought  and  feeling,  to  fine  distinctions  of  moral 

409 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

values,  he  wilfully  abstained  from  probing  hearts,  build- 
ing up  his  power  on  the  recognition  of  great  general 
truths. 

As  a  keen  observer  he  knew  that  Waring  and  Bar- 
bara were  in  danger  of  an  unlawful  emotion;  but  he 
rarely  lingered  on  the  fact  of  sin,  so  avid  was  he  of  that 
vision  of  holiness  hung  like  a  mirage  of  the  New  Jerusa- 
lem above  a  homesick  world.  What  these  two  bewildered 
people  needed  was  not  the  consciousness  of  their  sin — 
poor  enough  as  a  restraining  force  in  Perceval's  experi- 
ence—but the  realization  of  the  supreme  outlets  of  life. 

Yet '  he  knew  himself,  baffled  and  defeated,  as  he 
often  felt,  but  an  indifferent  medium  to  bring  that  reali- 
zation to  them.  He  also  loved— and  loved  in  vain!  His 
sympathy  for  them  was  too  great.  Sometimes  he  won- 
dered if  his  deprivation  had  clouded  his  moral  judgment. 

Waring,  unhappy  and  struggling,  was  nearer  to  him 
than  ever  before.  Between  the  two  men  at  this  time  there 
grew  a  friendship  cultivated  for  the  most  part  by  the 
things  they  did  not  say.  Night  vigils  shared  in  common 
had  become  frequent,  Waring  studying  or  smoking  in 
silence,  Perceval  reading  or  thinking  over  a  sermon. 

The  St.  Justina  now  hung  in  the  study.  They  would 
sometimes  waken  to  the  fact  that  they  were  both  gazing 
at  the  picture.  The  face  of  the  saint— beautiful,  com- 
prehending, but  remote— was  Athena  to  Perceval,  Bar- 
bara to  Waring. 

Not  seldom  they  discussed  the  affairs  of  the  Univer- 
sity, generally  coming  around  to  Rebbor's  proposed  gift. 
Waring  '&  speech  before  the  Faculty  had  been  vivid  and 
high-wrought  enough  to  mark  him  as  the  life  of  the  oppo- 
sition; while  in  reality  it  had  exhausted  for  the  time 

410 


THE    ORDER    OF    FRIENDSHIP 

being  his  enthusiasm  of  protest.  Perceval  found  him 
languid  in  his  arguments,  almost  ready  to  be  convinced, 
it  would  seem,  of  the  other  side  of  the  question ;  but  the 
priest  was  wise  enough  to  know  that  this  negativity  was 
but  an  evidence  of  an  emotional  absorption,  excluding 
everything  foreign  to  it.  He  reflected  that  marriage,  in 
nine  cases  out  of  ten  the  grave  of  romance,  was  for  that 
very  reason  the  bulwark  of  civilization,  lovers  making 
abominable  citizens. 

He  himself  had  come  to  such  a  pass  that  to  resign  the 
rectorship  of  St.  Jude's,  to  go  into  mission  work  in  some 
large  town  or  city,  seemed  the  only  course  left  open  for 
the  preservation  of  his  courage  and  his  integrity,  and  for 
the  adequate  performance  of  his  priestly  duties.  To 
dwell  always  within  sight  of  the  longed  for  unattainable 
was  not  conducive  to  a  wholesome  state  of  mind.  He  had 
already  communicated  to  his  bishop  his  wish  to  change 
his  field  of  work. 

An  answer  had  arrived  in  the  evening  mail,  so  per- 
fectly meeting  with  his  resolve  that  it  seemed  like  a 
death-warrant.  He  already  tasted  the  loneliness,  the 
dreary  one-sidedness  of  his  future  work  on  the  East 
Side.  With  artistic  tastes  highly  cultivated,  loving  the 
intellectual  pleasures,  his  ministry  at  St.  Jude's  had  been 
too  congenial. 

The  St.  Justina  of  Moretto  da  Brescia  had  become  a 
living  woman.  But  he  could  not  remain  kneeling  to  her 
as  did  the  Duke.  He  must  leave  his  environment,  be- 
cause she  symbolized  all  its  spiritual  luxuries. 

Waring  was  reading  "Madame  Bovary"  by  the  light 
of  the  student-lamp,  one  hand  in  boyish  fashion  prop- 
ping his  brow,  but  his  eyes  looked  old  and  tired. 

411 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

He  was  in  evening-dress,  having  an  engagement  later 
to  go  with  Perdita  to  Mrs.  Maturin  's.  That  Perceval  had 
refused  her  invitation  surprised  and  puzzled  him  for  a 
moment;  then  he  had  dismissed  the  matter  as  he  dis- 
missed all  matters  great  and  small  which  did  not  touch 
upon  the  supreme  question. 

Perceval  was  wishing  that  he  would  look  up,  would 
speak.  The  letter  had  banished  the  priest  into  a  bleak 
loneliness. 

Waring  became  conscious  after  a  while  that  Perce- 
val's eyes  were  fixed  upon  him.    He  laid  down  his  book. 

"Well?" 

"I  have  something  to  tell  you." 

"Something  important?" 

"Tome." 

"To  me,  then,  too,"  Waring  said,  with  a  faint  smile. 

' '  I  shall  leave  Sparta  in  the  spring.  I  shall  probably 
take  the  charge  of  St.  Chad's  in  New  York." 

"Leave  Sparta!" 

Waring 's  full  astonishment  was  in  his  voice. 

"Yes— after  twelve  years." 

He  sighed  as  he  spoke.    Waring  looked  puzzled. 

"But  you  belong  to  Hallworth.  You've  made  St. 
Jude  's  a  part  of  Hallworth.    We  can 't  do  without  you. ' ' 

"I  think  it  is  rather  can  I  do  without  Hallworth?" 

"You're  not  leaving  us,  then,  because  you're  tired 
of  us?" 

"Hardly." 

The  question  Waring  wanted  to  ask  was  in  his  eyes. 

' '  My  reasons  ?  Well,  it  might  be  that  I  find  my  post 
here  too  congenial." 

"To  my  way  of  thinking  that's  just  the  reason  for 
412 


THE    ORDER    OF    FRIENDSHIP 

your  remaining.  You're  the  only  clergyman  I  know  of 
that  understands  Hallworth  's  point  of  view ;  and  in  con- 
sequence you've  done  more  good  than  if  you'd  asked  us 
to  understand  yours." 

"It's  not  generosity;  it's  inevitable  sympathy.  Logi- 
cally I  don't  belong  in  the  Church  at  all.  I  should  feel 
in  honor  bound  to  leave  it  to-morrow  if  I  believed  Chris- 
tianity a  system  of  dogma— but " 

' '  But  you  believe  it ? ' ' 

"A  life  to  be  lived." 

Waring  nodded. 

"That  seemed  to  be  the  idea  of  its  Founder,  as  far 
as  I  can  make  out;  but,  Perceval,  is  this  thing  settled?" 

"My  going  is  settled.  I  shall  probably  take  St. 
Chad's." 

"In  what  part  of  New  York  is  it?" 

"In  the  lower  East  Side.  It  is  little  more  than  a 
mission. ' ' 

' '  You  don 't  deny  yourself  by  halves,  do  you ! ' ' 

Perceval  smiled. 

"I  can't  let  you  call  it  self-denial.  You've  already 
enough  flamaging  evidence  against  me  to  prove  your 
charge  that  I'm  retrogressive,  medieval." 

Waring  stared  into  the  fire. 

"I  shall  miss  you.  If  it  were  any  place  but  New 
York!— there  I  shall  at  least  have  a  chance  to  see  you 
occasionally." 

He  looked  at  his  watch. 

"Well,  I  must  be  off.  I'm  sorry  you're  not  going; 
and  you  and  Mrs.  Maturin  are  such  good  friends,  too- 
good  enough  for  you  to  change  your  mind  at  this  elev- 
enth hour." 

413 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

Perceval  shook  his  head. 

1 '  I  have  work  to  do. ' ' 

He  took  Waring 's  hand  and  held  it  in  his  firm  grasp 
a  moment. 

"Come  soon  again,  and  finish  your  novel. " 

"May  I  leave  it  here?  It's  not  exactly  a  companion 
for  the  Church  Fathers,  but " 

Perceval  smiled. 

"St.  Augustine  was  enough  of  a  man  of  the  world 
to  understand  'Madame  Bovary'— ^only  he  saw  two 
worlds!" 

"One  is  all  I  can  deal  with,"  Waring  said,  taking 
his  leave  with  a  feeling  that  the  priest  comprehended 
his  hidden  trouble.  Well !  At  least  he  could  be  safe 
with  him.    Perceval  had  the  gift  of  silence  to  perfection. 

Under  any  other  circumstances  Waring  would  have 
found  the  combination  of  Perdita  and  the  environment 
of  Mrs.  Maturin's  house  irresistible  in  charm,  but  on  this 
evening  a  heaviness  of  spirit  possessed  him  which  it  re- 
quired all  his  courtesy  to  hide.  Perdita,  with  fine,  delib- 
erate intent,  had  led  him  away  from  the  throng  to  a 
happy  thought  of  a  conservatory— an  embowered,  rose- 
lighted  little  place  adjoining  the  library.  For  this  he 
was  grateful.  She  knew  better  than  any  woman  present 
how  to  fill  up  silences,  and  yet  she  never  asked  you  if 
you  had  read  the  latest  novel. 

She  talked  to  him  now  with  a  certain  delicate  tri- 
umph in  her  manner,  the  air  of  one  who  has  accom- 
plished in  part  her  end.  That  afternoon  she  had  heard 
of  her  name  being  coupled  with  Waring's  in  a  sigh  of 
thanksgiving  that  he  was  directing  his  devotion  along 

414 


THE    ORDER    OF   FRIENDSHIP 

legitimate  paths.  If  the  townsfolk  had  blamed  Barbara, 
the  University  for  the  most  part  blamed  Waring  that 
he  had  not  shown  himself  more  of  a  man  of  the  world. 
The  slight  ostracism  which  some  of  the  townsfolk  were 
inclined  to  show  toward  Mrs.  Penfold  had  not  reached 
her,  for  the  simple  reason  that  it  could  not  break  through 
the  powerful  campus  circle  which  hemmed  her  in.  Its 
most  influential  members— Mrs.  Maturin,  Perdita,  the 
President,  and  others  drawn  in  their  train— were  avow- 
edly her  friends.  Pity  rather  than  blame  was  accorded 
to  her,  but  Perdita  wished  to  save  her  even  from  pity. 

Waring,  not  seeing  her  in  the  throng,  longed  to  go 
in  search  of  her ;  yet  was  glad  that  a  restraint  was  upon 
him.  He  was  not  sure  these  days  of  what  spoke  in  his 
face  and  eyes. 

Perdita  was  making  him  laugh  in  spite  of  himself 
by  her  description  of  sundry  encounters  with  the 
learned  Teuton,  who  hated  women,  it  seemed,  as  other 
men  hate  mosquitoes. 

"I  asked  him  his  views  on  co-education  the  other 
evening— asked  him  with  the  gravest  face!  What  do 
you  think  he  said?" 

"I  can't  imagine." 

"He  glared  at  me  through  his  spectacles  a  moment, 
then  gutturaled:  'My  dear  Voman— I  verdamn  it  all.' 
He  brought  out  the  'voman'  with  an  intonation  that 
made  me  feel  as  if  I  wore  pattens,  couldn't  spell,  and 
must  go  soon  and  milk  the  cow.  I  beat  a  retreat  lest 
he  should  hate  me  still  more  for  my  laughter." 

Waring  smiled,  thinking  of  the  untamed  Teuton,  his 
appearance  suggesting  beer  and  scholarship  in  profound 
proportions,  in  juxtaposition  with  Perdita 's  rare  femi- 
27  415 


THE    LAW    OF    LIFE 

ninity.    Only  America  could  produce  her  eyes,  her  tem- 
perament. 

He  looked  into  her  face  now  with  the  wish  that  he 
might  have  loved  her. 

"A  German  always  thinks  that  a  highly  educated 
woman  must  be  somehow  immoral,  because  the  domestic 
virtues  and  ignorance  have  gone  so  long  together.  Wit- 
ness 'Es  Lebe  das  Leben'!"  Waring  said,  not  to  leave 
her  with  the  brunt  of  the  conversation. 

"Here  comes  the  President.  Let  us  ask  him  what  he 
really  thinks  in  the  depths  of  his  anti-academic  heart 
concerning  co-education. '  ■ 

Dr.  Hunt,  with  the  air  of  searching  for  some  one,  was 
making  his  way  toward  the  conservatory,  where  Perdita 
and  Waring  sat  in  full  view.  That  these  two  people 
were  often  together  seemed  to  him  undesirable  and  un- 
necessary ;  but  being  of  a  temperament  Jittle  inclined  to 
meddle  with  emotions,  he  did  not  seek  the  positive 
reasons  for  this  negative  criticism. 

Since  Waring 's  speech  before  the  Faculty  he  was 
conscious  that  a  time  might  be  coming  when  his  per- 
sonal liking  for  the  young  man  must  give  way  to  the 
necessary  annihilation  of  his  disturbing  Quixotism,  a 
veritable  firebrand  to  older  and  drier  members  of  the 
Faculty  circle,  ready  to  oppose  the  President  for  no  bet- 
ter reason  than  that  he  possessed  the  stronger  will. 

The  sense  of  Waring 's  opposition  had  almost  become 
personal  since  Perdita  devoting  herself  to  him  had 
clothed  him  with  the  involuntary  character  of  a  rival. 
The  lady  was  too  rare  for  the  crudities  of  youth,  and 
youth  must  keep  its  place,  whether  in  Faculty  meetings 
or  in  society. 

416 


THE    ORDER   OF    FRIENDSHIP 

"Good-evening,  Miss  Ravenel.  Good-evening,  Mr. 
Waring.  Miss  Ravenel,  Mrs.  Maturin  has  been  inquiring 
for  you.    May  I  take  you  to  her  |  - ' 

He  offered  his  arm  with  stiff,  old-fashioned  courtesy. 
Perdita  rose,  wondering  why  the  Doctor  looked  so  grim. 

Waring,  left  alone,  knew  that  he  should  go  in  search 
of  Barbara.    Beyond  their  meeting  he  never  looked. 

But  as  he  rose  a  door  at  the  end  of  the  conservatory 
opened  and  Barbara  herself  entered.  For  a  moment  she 
did  not  see  him.  But  in  that  moment  he  became  con- 
scious of  her  utter  preoccupation.  Her  eyes,  large  and 
sad,  stared  unseeing  at  the  scene  before  her. 

"Mrs.  Penfold." 

She  started ;  gave  a  little  cry  of  surprise. 

"I  did  not  know— you  were  here  this  evening— Mr. 
Waring. ' ' 

"Yes,  I  came  with  Miss  Ravenel.  She  has  just 
left  me." 

She  misinterpreted  his  literalness.  Rumors  of  his 
devotion  to  Perdita  had  reached  her.  She  herself  had 
seen  them  together  on  more  than  one  occasion.  Was  he 
taking  this  means  of  telling  her  that  his  suffering  might 
be  eventually  dulled?  Though  she  knew  she  wronged 
him  in  the  thought,  jealousy  bit  at  her  heart,  but  she 
smiled  above  the  wound  to  divert  attention  from  it. 

"I  envy  you,"  she  said  slowly,  "the  privilege  of  her 
society.     She  is— charming." 

"Oh,  yes!" 

His  offhand,  indifferent  agreement  was  like  fragrant 
ointment  to  her. 

She  stood  for  a  moment  irresolute. 

"Please  don't  go.    I  was  coming  to  find  you!" 
417 


THE   LAW   OP   LIFE 

In  his  low  voice  was  the  sharpness  of  entreaty. 

"Ought  I  to  stay?" 

"I  have  something  particular  to  say  to  you.  I  can- 
not say  it  here.  May  I  see  you  to-morrow?  Will  you 
take  a  walk  with  me  in  the  afternoon  ? ' ' 

He  spoke  with  a  quiet  intensity  which  seemed  in  the 
nature  of  a  command. 

"I  will  go  with  you,"  she  answered,  "if  what  you 
have  to  say  does  not  concern— us." 

"It  does  concern  us." 

"Then  I  cannot  go,"  she  said,  her  voice  heavy  with 
her  decision. 

"It  is  little  to  do  for  me." 

The  full  egotism  of  his  passion  was  in  the  words,  but 
she  only  felt  their  loneliness.    Tears  came  into  her  eyes. 

"I  will  go,"  she  said  simply;  "but  don't  make  it 
hard  for  me." 

In  his  heart  he  called  himself  coward,  but  scourging 
himself,  he  yet  went  the  way  of  his  desire. 

Into  their  atmosphere  of  pain  and  resistance  Dutton 
came  at  that  moment  with  a  solemn  look,  and  the  air  of 
one  facing  difficulties.  Not  waiting  for  an  invitation  he 
seated  himself  by  Barbara. 

"I  have  brought  you  a  message  from  Allaire.  She 
says  she  is  coming  to  see  you  to-morrow  morning,"  he 
began  with  directness,  but  having  finished,  presented  a 
what-next,  helpless  face,  which  might  bring  forth  any- 
thing but  the  solution  of  going  as  abruptly  as  he  had 
come.  Waring,  disinclined  to  give  him  assistance,  was 
glad  that  the  stupidities  of  perfectly  happy  people  could 
never  at  least  be  his. 

418 


THE    ORDER    OF   FRIENDSHIP 

But  Barbara  came  to  the  rescue  out  of  her  genuine 
liking  for  Dutton,  who  always  seemed,  among  the  frou- 
frous of  the  social  table,  like  a  piece  of  home-made 
bread. 

When  she  had  talked  with  him  a  few  moments  she 
rose  and  said  good-night.  The  Cartwrights  were  to  take 
her  home.    They  had  set  this  hour  for  their  departure. 

She  shook  hands  with  the  two  men,  refusing  to  let 
them  go  with  her  to  the  drawing-room. 

Left  alone  together,  Dutton  beckoned  Waring  to  a 
seat  at  the  far  end  of  the  conservatory.  His  manner 
was  mysterious;  for  that  reason  irritating. 

"I  hope  you'll  pardon  my  abrupt  interruption  of 
your  conversation— but  the  fact  is,  Richard " 

He  hesitated,  his  face  cloudy  with  embarrassment. 

''Well J"  Waring  said  coolly. 

Dutton  looked  pained.  In  all  their  long  friendship 
Waring  had  never  had  this  aloof,  critical  manner  toward 
him.    What  change  had  come  over  him? 

"I  think  I  am  doing  Mrs.  Penfold  a  kindness " 

"Mrs.  Penfold? "  Waring  said  sharply.    "Why 

should  she  be  in  need  of  a  kindness  1 ' ' 

Dutton  shrank  under  the  words  an  instant  as  under 
the  cut  of  a  whip.  Then  his  friendship  brought  out  the 
truth  with  courageous  bluntness. 

"She  doesn't  need  it.  But  to-night  I  overheard  a 
malicious  remark  made  by  some  one  who  saw  you  sitting 
here.  A  woman  made  it,  and  because  she  was  a  woman 
I  couldn't  knock  her  empty  head  against  the  wall." 
Dutton  was  growing  red  in  the  face  with  his  indignation. 
"But  I  thought  I'd  do  what  I  could.  I'd  come  and  sit 
here  with  you,  so  it'd  be  three,  not  two.     Oh,  Richard, 

419 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

forgive  me— but  I  wanted  to  kill  her  for  the  imputa- 
tion—and so— I— came.' r 

He  was  stuttering  with  embarrassment,  sympathy, 
loyalty.  Waring,  his  heart  torn  by  Dutton  's  perfect  un- 
consciousness that  anything  could  be  wrong ;  by  his  own 
remorse  for  what  he  should  inevitably  do,  laid  a  hand 
on  his  friend's  arm. 

"You're  an  awfully  good  sort,  Paul,  but— but  you 
shouldn  't  take  what  a  woman  says  so  seriously. ' ' 

"On  a  point  of  honor  one  can't  be  too  serious,"  he 
answered,  wondering  at  Waring 's  own  calm. 

Waring  said  nothing. 

But  when  he  parted  with  Perdita  at  the  door  of  the 
Hall  that  evening,  as  by  a  flash  of  lightning  he  saw  the 
meaning  of  her  attentions  to  him.  Gossip  was  abroad 
and  she*  was  protecting  Barbara.  The  same  spirit  which 
had  prompted  Dutton 's  clumsy  chivalry  was  in  her 
esoteric  wooing  of  himself. 

"God  bless  her,"  he  thought,  and  in  thought  his 
gratitude  bent  and  kissed  her  hand. 


420 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

IN   THE  WINTER  WOODS. 

Allaire  and  Barbara,  after  a  labyrinthine  conver- 
sation of  no  special  importance,  had  come  to  the  point 
when  the  revelation  of  great  news  was  the  only  exit. 
Barbara,  feeling  centuries  older  than  this  girl,  was 
watching  her  wistful  face  for  that  sudden  light  presag- 
ing the  telling  of  what  she  had  come  to  tell. 

But  Allaire  in  love  still  pitched  her  emotions  in  the 
minor  key.  She  had  had  too  hard  a  fight  to  win  from 
her  ambitious  parents  their  consent  to  her  marrying 
Dutton  to  be  overjubilant  now.  From  earliest  child- 
hood her  unyouthful  recognition  of  difficulties  had 
tempered  her  dearest  joys. 

That  Barbara  should  be  the  first  among  her  friends 
to  be  told  was  Allaire's  tribute  to  a  kindred  spirit  also 
mistrustful  of  certainties,  and  having  bewilderments  of 
its  own.  The  keen  eyes  of  the  girl  had  watched  the 
matron  to  some  purpose.  Understanding,  she  refrained 
from  judgment,  another  unyouthful  trait. 

Barbara,  overtaken  herself  by  misery,  had  not  sought 
the  proverbial  company.  She  desired  passionately  that 
Allaire,  that  Elizabeth,  that  all  those  fortunate  enough 
to  be  engaged  but  not  married,  should  find  the  path  of 
happiness.  That  Allaire  and  Dutton  would  be  happy 
seemed  written  in  their  mutual  devotion.  Yet  this  en- 
gagement held,  as  the  majority  of  engagements  do,  its 
inexplicable   element.     It   was  not   clear   why   Allaire, 

421 


.      THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

complex,  bored,  astute,  should  care  for  the  ingenuous 
and  simple-minded  Dutton,  almost  rustic  in  his  perfect 
goodness.  Perhaps  it  was  a  typical  case  of  extremes 
meeting. 

' '  Well,  dear ! ' '  Barbara  said,  moved  to  a  question  by 
Allaire 's  inviting  silence.    ' ' What  is  it?" 

The  light  came  at  last  into  the  bored,  pathetic  face. 
Allaire  leaned  forward,  dropping  her  Madonna  chin  into 
the  delicate  cup  of  her  little  palms. 

"I  guess  you  know.    It's  Paul  Dutton.' ' 

Barbara  smiled. 

"Yes,  I've  thought  so— for  some  time." 

"It  has  been  rather  obvious,  I  suppose.  Neither  of 
us  had  the  ostrich  delusion.    Are  you  glad  for  us?" 

"Very." 

"Thank  you,  Barbara.    I  think  you  mean  it." 
>  "  I  do,  indeed,  though  I  can 't  say  all  I  think. ' ' 

"Which  makes  you  one  of  us!  Now  ask  me  some 
questions. ' ' 

"What  shall  I  ask  you,  dear?" 

1 '  Ask  me  when  we  're  to  be  married.  I  want  that 
question  over  because  the  answer  is— tragically  uncer- 
tain." 

' '  When  ? ' '  said  Barbara  obediently. 

"When  God  pleases  to  turn  the  hearts  of  my 
parents,"  Allaire  answered,  with  her  smile  that  always 
told  so  much  more  than  her  words. 

"Are  they  so  in  need  of  a  change  of  heart?" 

"I  am  concerned  about  them.  They  sometimes  seem 
to  me  like  people  who  have  missed  the  essential  meaning 
of  life." 

"Allaire,  you  are— incorrigible!" 
422 


IN   THE   WINTER   WOODS 

"I  speak  with  authority.  I've  found  it— it's  love! 
They  may  know  it,  too,  some  day  when  they  see  how 
happy  I  am. ' ' 

"Are  you  so  sure  of  being  happy?"  Barbara  said, 
with  a  little  sigh. 

* '  I  'm  sure  of  Paul, ' '  Allaire  answered  simply,  f i  The 
dry  history  of  the  case  is  this.  They  won 't  let  me  marry 
him  unless  he  has  a  full  professorship.  They  are  disap- 
pointed that  his  chemistry  book  hasn't  sold  like  a  well- 
advertised  novel,  seventy  thousand  one  Saturday,  eighty 
the  next,  and  so  on.  It's  not  the  postponement— it's  the 
reason  for  it  that  hurts  me.  It  sticks  right  in  my  chest 
all  the  time." 

"Poor  little  Allaire!" 

1 ' Barbara,  do  you  love  me?" 

"Yes." 

"And  therefore  Paul?" 

"Yes." 

"You  are  our  forever  friend?" 

"Dear— yes!" 

"We're  yours!"  Allaire  said  curtly. 

Barbara  turned  away  her  head. 

"Thank  you.    One  needs— friends." 

Silence  fell  between  them.  Allaire  became  practical 
again. 

"Barbara,  when  I  do  marry  I'm  going  to  have  a 
matron-of-honor  only.    May  I  have  you?" 

"What  does— a  matron-of-honor  do?" 

"She  goes  with  the  bride  to  the  altar;  she  holds  her 
flowers,  she  kneels  with  her. ' ' 

Barbara  shook  her  head. 

"Oh,  I  couldn't!" 

423 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

"Why  not?" 

"I  couldn't,  dear,  I  couldn't.  Why  not  have  one 
of  your  girl  friends?" 

Allaire  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"I  want  you.    Isn't  that  the  best  of  reasons?" 

"It  is  dear  of  you— but  I  couldn't." 

"Don't  you  care  enough  for  me?" 

"You  know  I  do,"  Barbara  said  sadly. 

"Then  why?" 

"I  couldn't." 

At  the  lunch  table  Dr.  Penfold  had  been  very  talka- 
tive. Barbara  had  noticed  that  his  talkative  moods 
were  frequent  of  late.  He  seemed  in  a  blind,  groping 
way  to  be  expressing  some  kind  of  inner  content,  of  ap- 
probation of  Barbara  and  all  she  refrained  from  in  their 
daily  life. 

These  little  compliments,  little  awkward  attentions, 
filled  her  with  a  strange,  haunting  remorse— not  that  she 
did  not  love  him,  because  she  was  finding  out  that  any- 
thing more  than  her  friendly  affection  would  only  have 
embarrassed  Dr.  Penfold— but  that  he  was  so  innocent 
of  her  tragedy.  He  thought  her  still  the  child  he  had 
married,  with  a  little  more  experience  of  life,  perhaps, 
but  still  at  heart  a  child,  hiding  no  greater  grief  than 
the  memory  of  another  child  who  had  never  breathed. 

She  listened  to  him  now,  overburdened  with  her 
promise  to  go  walking  with  Waring  that  afternoon. 
Since  her  refusal  to  be  matron-of-honor  for  Allaire,  she 
knew  more  clearly  than  ever  before  that  spiritually  she 
was  beyond  the  pale.  Only  those  with  white  souls  should 
attend  brides  to  the  altar. 

424 


IN    THE    WINTER   WOODS 

A  desperate  desire  was  upon  her  to  escape  from  this 
hypocrisy,  this  living  lie  of  her  marriage,  to  say  to  all 
the  world  "I  love  Richard  Waring.  What  are  you 
going  to  do  about  it?"  throwing  down  her  challenge  to 
that  social  order  hiding,  protecting  so  many  crimes 
under  its  reverence  for  law. 

"My  dear,  are  you  thinking  of  giving  any  entertain- 
ments this  winter  ?" 

The  question  startled  her.  That  Dr.  Penfold  should 
think  without  prompting  of  her  social  obligations  was 
too  strange.    She  replied  to  his  question  by  another. 

"What  makes  you  ask  that,  Amos?" 

"I  believe  I  refused  you  a  dinner-party  last  winter. 
I  merely  want  to  say  that  if  you  should  like  to  give  a 
dinner-party  I  should  do  my  best  to  be  on  good  be- 
havior. ' ' 

"Indeed,  you  are  kind— as  always!  No;  I  don't 
want  to  give  a  dinner." 

"Are  you  tired  of  society,  my  dear?" 

"Yes,  I  think  so— a  little." 

Dr.  Penfold  looked  pleased,  as  if  she  were  turning 
out  quite  the  woman  he  expected. 

"Well,  it  isn't  inexhaustible,  though  we  have  some 
clever  people  up  here." 

They  were  silent  for  a  time,  then  Barbara  spoke  hesi- 
tatingly.      * 

"I— I  am  going  for  a  walk  with  Mr.  Waring  this 
afternoon. ' ' 

"Let  me  know  when  he  comes.  I  want  to  see  him  a 
moment  about  some  class-work." 

"Won't  you— go  with  us?" 

"Not  to-day.  By  the  way,  Richard  quite  distin- 
425 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

guished  himself  the  other  day  in  Faculty  meeting.  He 
spoke  against  the  acceptance  of  Rebbor's  gift." 

* '  Did  you  agree  with  him  I ' ' 

"J  came  to  the  same  conclusion  by  a  different  road. 
As  far  as  I  can  see  Rebbor's  trust  is  no  more  dishonest 
than  any  other.  They  are  all  pots  and  kettles  together. 
My  argument  is  that  Hallworth  is  too  rich  already.  We 
want  fewer  appliances  and  more  scholarship.  We  used 
to  do  more  with  bare  benches  and  half  a  book  apiece 
when  I  was  young. ' ' 

He  went  on  to  talk  of  his  boyhood,  a  recital  which 
Barbara  always  shrank  from,  since  it  gave  her  the  feel- 
ing of  being  married  to  an  octogenarian. 

The  winter  woods  closed  in  about  them  like  sentinels 
of  silence.  Primeval,  somber,  protecting,  the  great 
pines  sought  the  sky,  their  branches  outspread  to  the 
evening  wind,  traveling  from  the  red  winter  sunset. 

The  sun  was  going  down  a  crimson  ball,  its  light 
staining  the  bronzed  trunks,  lying  like  blood  upon  the 
virgin  snow.  Waring  and  Barbara,  their  hands  clasped, 
stool  silently  side  by  side  gazing  down  the  long  forest 
aisles  toward  the  western  splendor.  He  had  brought  her 
to  the  depths  of  the  wood,  she  following  his  leadership 
with  the  strange  acquiescence  of  one  walking  in  a  dream. 
They  had  spoken  few  words  to  each  other,  and  these 
commonplaces.  Now  silence  had  taken  complete  posses- 
sion of  them.  There,  far  away  from  all  sound  of  human 
life  or  sight  of  that  society  which  seemed  to  Waring  to 
be  receding  farther  from  them,  he  meant  to  tell  her 
what  must  be  done  to  give  them  their  freedom. 

Their  hands  clung  together,  but  she  stood  stiffly 
426 


IN    THE    WINTER   WOODS 

• 
erect,  her  eyes  looking  beyond  the  sunset.    Her  desire  to 

keep  the  frequented  forest  road,  to  hold  Waring  at  the 

border  of  friendship,  had  been  swept  away  like  a  straw 

by  his  presence.    Her  need  of  him  was  unfolding  to  her 

intellect  as  well  as  to  her  emotions,  bitter  realities  which 

refused  to  be  marshaled  under  the  ethical  flag.     What 

if,  after  all,  her  marriage  should  be  the  greater  sin ! 

The  glow  behind  the  black  pines  deepened.  In  the 
orange  sky  a  slip  of  a  young  moon  hung.  Still  they  did 
not  speak.  The  hour  was  sacramental.  Waring  could 
not  break  the  hush  of  nature. 

His  grasp  on  her  hand  tightened. 

"Barbara." 

"Yes,"  she  said  faintly. 

"We  belong  to  each  other." 

"Yes." 

His  voice  was  calm,  decisive,  compelling  her  to  listen. 

1 '  Since  we  belong  to  each  other,  is  not  your  marriage 
a  great  evil?" 

She  nodded,  dumb  with  her  pain. 

"Is  it  not  your  duty  to  sever  it?" 

She  remained  silent. 

"Barbara." 

"Richard!" 

Anguished  appeal  was  in  her  voice,  but  his  liberated 
will  closed  his  ears. 

"Is  it  not  your  duty  to  sever  it ? "  he  repeated. 

* ' You  said  you  would  not  make  it  hard  for  me!"  she 
cried. 

He  put  his  hand  over  his  eyes  a  moment,  shutting 
out  accusing  visions,  then  turned  in  accusation  upon 
her. 

427 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

"Are  you  facing  it— or  are  you— playing  with  me?" 

"Richard!— God  forgive  you!" 

He  did  not  look  at  her,  till  he  became  aware  that  she 
was  weeping,  her  smothered  sobs  seeming  to  suffocate 
her. 

' '  Take  back  that  word !    It  makes  me ! ' ' 

"Barbara,  I  am  so  wretched.  Don't  hold  me  at  this 
distance.    Give  me  your  hand  again." 

She  gave  it  into  his,  and  again  they  stood  silent, 
side  by  side,  gazing  into  the  depths  of  the  wood.  Her 
sobs,  not  yet  conquered,  disturbed  the  silence.  She 
caught  her  breath. 

"God  forgive  me  for  making  you  weep  so.  I'm  a 
wretch,  but  I'm  an  unhappy  one,  Barbara.  Isn't  it 
some  excuse  that  I  'm  unhappy  I ' ' 

She  nodded,  not  able  to  speak. 

"Can  you  blame  me  for  wanting  to  face  it— solve 
it?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Does  it  seem  so  terrible  to  you— a— a— divorce?" 

1 '  No  more  terrible  than  this, ' '  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 
"Only  another  wickedness  to  this  wickedness." 

"It  is  your  marriage  which  is  wrong." 

"No-it  is  I-myself." 

He  gazed  at  her  with  a  long  tenderness. 

"You  are  not  wrong.  You  are  trapped.  Must  you 
remain  trapped  ?    Is  it  right  ?    Is  it  just  ? ' ' 

She  was  silent  for  some  moments,  then  she  said : 

"I  married  him.  He  is  my  husband.  Nothing  can 
undo  that." 

"But  it  is  not  a  true  union." 

"I  married  him,"  she  repeated. 
428 


IN    THE    WINTER   WOODS 

Her  sobs  again  choked  her.  Her  clasp  of  his  hand 
tightened. 

"I  struggled,"  she  said. 

"I  know." 

"I  prayed." 

''Yes." 

"And  God  has  left  me!" 

He  was  silent. 

"You  must  not  despise  me  too  much.  When  I  mar- 
ried—I did  not  know  what  love— was— or— marriage ; 
but  I  wasn't  happy  even  then— though  I  scarcely  knew 
why.  I  suffered  all  that  summer  before— but— but  I 
had  given  my  promise,  and  his  life  had  been— so  hard. 
I  sinned,  but  I  did  not  know  how  much  until  too  late. 
Now  whichever  way  I  turn  I  sin— and  I  am  young. 
Richard!  What  am  I  to  do  with  this  long  life  stretch- 
ing out  before  me!" 

Sobs  shook  her  frame. 

He  was  dumb  with  their  mutual  misery.  She  went 
on  as  if  the  words  gave  her  relief. 

"Those  summer  nights  when  you  were  working 
next !" 

"Oh,  those  summer  nights!" 

"I  cried  against  heaven.  You  say  I'm  trapped.  I 
said  so  to  God!  It  was  wicked,  but  I  said  it.  Was  it 
my  fault  that  I  was  brought  up  by  a  recluse  knowing 
nothing  of  the  world,  that  I  came  to  Hallworth  an  igno- 
rant dreamer?  Then— then  you  came— too  late.  Other 
women  are  not  wicked  when  they  love,  but  I— I " 

"And  knowing  this  you  will  not  face  it.  You  must 
face  it!" 

His  voice  was  harsh  with  command. 
429 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

The  storm  of  her  confession  gave  her  a  moment's 
calm. 

"Yes,  I  will  face  it,"  she  said  slowly.  "I  will  find- 
try  to  find— the  truth." 

"There  is  but  one  true  course  of  action." 

She  was  silent. 

"Will  you  promise  to  face  it  squarely,  Barbara?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  raising  her  .head,  as  if  the  very 
thought  of  something  decisive,  inevitable,  gave  her  cour- 
age.   ' '  Squarely —if  I  can ! ' ' 

They  stood  again  in  silence.  The  last  light  was  fad- 
ing from  the  west.  With  approaching  night  the  wind 
grew  colder.    Barbara  shivered. 

"We  must  go  back." 

"Yes." 

Still  he  lingered. 

' ' You  do  not  despise  me?"  she  whispered. 

"You  are  white  as  God's  angels." 

"Come." 

Hand  in  hand,  with  curious  lost-child  air  about  them, 
they  went  through  the  winter  wood.  A  little  path  led 
to  a  country  road,  leading  in  turn  to  the  forest  road. 
As  they  came  out  of  the  first  road  a  familiar  figure 
joined  them,  emerging  suddenly,  mysteriously,  from 
some  shadow.    It  was  the  Emperor. 

"I  am  belated,"  she  said  coolly  and  with  no  sign  of 
surprise.    ' '  May  I  have  your  company  home  ? ' ' 

So  it  was  that  three,  not  two,  came  back  to  the  cam- 
pus together. 


430 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

THE  LIFE-WARRANT. 

Barbara,  in  keeping  her  promise  to  face  the  situa- 
tion, encountered  not  only  her  particular  case  but  the 
problems  of  a  universe  which  from  childhood  had  been 
to  her  but  an  uneasy  home.  On  some  days  her  vision 
contracted  to  center  upon  the  three  actors  of  the  drama, 
her  husband  in  his  impassive  part,  she  and  Waring  grop- 
ing, yet  tragically  sure  of  their  need  of  each  other.  On 
others  her  stifled  heart  found  relief  in  roaming  through 
all  the  history  that  she  knew,  saying  to  each  great  ghost 
whom  she  encountered,  ' '  What  is  truth  | ' ' 

One  figure,  laurel-crowned,  saturnine,  austere,  dun 
with  the  smoke  of  hell,  she  never  questioned,  remem- 
bering where  he  had  placed  Paolo  and  Francesca.  Yet 
he  had  pitied  them! — had  swooned  with  very  pity. 

To  the  Bible  she  sometimes  went,  but  with  no  sense 
of  its  being  an  absolute  authority.  Whatever  she  was, 
her  education  had  made  her  anything  but  a  Protestant. 
When  a  child  her  uncle  had  read  certain  portions  of  the 
Bible  to  her,  as  he  had  read  sometimes  from  Confucius, 
sometimes  from  the  sacred  books  of  India,  without  espe- 
cial emphasis,  except  profound  admiration  for  the  spir- 
itual splendors  of  an  Isaiah,  or  the  philosophic  penetra- 
tion of  a  St.  John.  Approaching  the  Testaments,  there- 
fore, with  the  consciousness  of  their  relative  rather  than 
their  absolute  value,  she  found  in  them  no  certain  so- 
lution of  her  difficulties,  and  would  put  them  wearily 
28  431 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

aside  as  throwing  little  light  on  an  individual  case  in  a 
complex  modern  world. 

And  indeed  she  had  drifted  too  far  out  upon  the 
tides  of  emotion  to  reason  calmly,  to  judge  with  delib- 
eration—how far  the  walk  in  the  forest  had  shown  her ! 
That  she  could  listen  at  all,  though  agitated,  suffering, 
to  Waring 's  proposition  that  she  should  sever  her  mar- 
riage tie,  revealed  what  a  gulf  was  between  her  and  the 
woman  even  of  last  September. 

Yet  consciousness  of  guilt  was  swallowed  up  in  life, 
life  overflowing,  imperious,  drawing  her  soul  to  his  by 
a  strong,  sure  current,  ''too  deep  for  sound  or  foam." 

She  went  about  her  daily  tasks  as  if  on  the  eve  of 
some  revelation  which  would  light  a  sinless  path  out  of 
the  narrow  house,  out  of  the  campus,  grown  narrow  and 
stifling,  into  that  world  of  joy  and  romance,  where  two, 
forgetting  pain,  could  remember  love.  This  world  took 
on  no  definite  outlines.    Waring  filled  it,  created  it. 

But  the  path  between  them  did  not  open,  nor  could 
even  romantic  imagination  divest  it  of  sordid  horrors. 
In  her  abandonment  to  emotion  the  mere  leaving  of  her 
husband  seemed  possible,  but  all  the  pride  of  her  nature 
shrank  from  the  necessity  of  legal  proceedings,  the  vul- 
gar immensity  of  which  hid  even  the  moral  aspect.  What 
delicacy  or  nobility  could  be  left  to  a  love  which  had 
been  stripped  bare  before  a  divorce  court!  The  ma- 
chinery of  the  law  must  inevitably  leave  its  machine 
stamp  upon  even  God's  handiwork.  The  brand  of  sin 
was  preferable.  She  wondered  if  a  true  aristocrat  had 
ever  been  divorced.    She  thought  not. 

These  questionings,  judgments,  speculations  were 
generally  the  fruit  of  the  morning  hours,  when  the  brain 

432 


THE    LIFE-WARRANT 

as  a  rule  is  more  active  than  the  heart.  With  the  com- 
ing on  of  evening  thought  was  swallowed  up  in  feeling. 
She  opened  her  soul  to  Waring,  receiving  him  with  the 
thirst  of  the  day's  denial. 

With  midwinter  and  the  advent  of  the  new  year  the 
social  life  of  Hallworth,  growing  more  and  more  inclu- 
sive, made  its  inevitable  demands  upon  her.  She  yielded 
to  these  sparingly,  being  seen  at  a  few  houses  only.  Her 
desire  to  avoid  Waring  in  society  grew  with  her  fear  of 
self-betrayal.  Her  pleasure  of  last  winter  she  had  taken 
with  spontaneous,  joyous  freedom ;  now  she  felt  as  if  in 
every  assemblage  hostile  eyes  regarded  her,  sought  to 
read  her  soul,  to  drag  her  secret  from  her.  Perdita, 
watching  her  from  her  citadel  of  unavowed  friendship, 
feared  that  Barbara  would  betray  herself  by  her  very 
cautiousness. 

Toward  Perdita  Barbara  felt  at  times  a  sudden  jeal- 
ous resentment  that  she  should  appear  on  such  good 
terms  with  Waring,  should  have  such  freedom  of  inter- 
course with  him.  She  had  always  wondered,  with  the 
curious  humility  which  seemed  but  the  corresponding 
depth  to  the  height  of  her  pride,  why  she,  not  Perdita, 
had  enslaved  him;  Perdita,  born  beautiful,  charming, 
social,  possessed  of  all  the  qualities  by  nature  which  were 
only  faintly  hers  by  grace. 

One  night  she  watched  the  two  across  the  length  of 
Mrs.  Maturin's  drawing-room.  Perdita,  gowned  in  pal- 
est blue,  with  a  collar  of  turquoises  about  her  neck,  was 
seated  in  a  low  chair,  Waring  bending  over  her,  with 
the  silent,  repressed  look  so  often  his  of  late;  the  con- 
traction of  the  dark,  straight  brows;  the  tightening  of 
his  lips  that  told  of  inner  absorption.    Barbara  had  come 

433 


THE    LAW   OF   LIFE 

to  look  for  these  symbols  as  the  very  evidence  that  he 
was  thinking  of  her,  thinking  for  her,  perhaps. 

He  glanced  from  time  to  time  in  her  direction,  but 
included  others  in  his  glance.  They  had  spoken  a 
few  words  together  that  evening,  commonplaces,  which 
gave  both  the  feeling  of  struggling  with  an  unknown 
tongue. 

Some  one  drew  her  attention,  held  it,  by  a  long  re- 
cital of  a  University  happening.  The  courtesy  of  look- 
ing directly  at  a  person  who  is  talking  to  you  shut  out 
Waring  and  Perdita  for  some  minutes.  When  she 
glanced  toward  them  again  the  strained  expression  was 
out  of  Waring 's  face.  He  was  smiling,  was  at  his  ease 
at  least  for  the  moment,  under  some  spell,  perhaps,  of 
Perdita 's  charm. 

The  released  look  hurt  Barbara,  gave  her  the  sensa- 
tion of  being  alone  with  her  pain.  She  suddenly  hated 
Perdita. 

She  rose,  stifled  by  her  emotion,  and  crossed  the  room 
to  take  leave  of  her  hostess,  glancing  neither  to  the  right 
nor  to  the  left. 

"Mrs.  Penfold!" 

Perdita 's  bell-like  voice  summoned  her.  She  turned, 
not  meeting  her  eyes,  nor  Waring 's,  hesitated,  then 
went  toward  them. 

"You  are  not  going— so  early!" 

"Yes,  I  am  rather  tired,"  Barbara  answered  coldly. 

"I've  been  wanting  a  word  with  you,"  Perdita  said, 
with  pleading  eagerness.  "Will  you  receive  with  me  at 
the  next  Hall  function?  It's  to  be  the  last  week  in  Feb- 
ruary. ' ' 

Barbara  Tiesitated. 

434 


THE    LIFE-WARRANT 

"Please  say  'Yes.'  You  would  help  me  out  so  very 
much. ' ' 

"  It  is  good  of  you.    I  hardly  think  I  can. ' ' 

Perdita  smiled,  undaunted  by  the  frigid  little  man- 
ner. 

"Then  you  must  tell  me  why,  lest  I  grow  very  un- 
happy over  the  wrong  reason." 

"May  I  send  you  word— to-morrow V ' 

"Certainly.  On  the  condition' that  it  is  the  word  I 
want. ' ' 

"You  are  really  going,  now— Mrs.  Penfold?"  War- 
ing said. 

"Yes,"  she  answered  faintly. 

"Dr.  Penfold  is  not— here?" 

"No." 

"May  I  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  home?" 

"Thank  you! — indeed,  it  is  not  necessary." 

Her  accent  was  a  dismissal.  She  said  good-night  to 
them,  conscious  of  a  manner  too  stately  for  the  occasion, 
and  hating  herself  now  more  than  she  could  ever  hate 
Perdita,  who  looked  after  her  with  friendly,  rather  wist- 
ful eyes. 

"I  think— if  you  will  excuse,  me,  Miss  Ravenel— I 
will  see  Mrs.  Penfold  home." 

Waring  looked  for  a  moment  with  a  curious,  ques- 
tioning gaze  into  the  brown  eyes  raised  to  his.  How 
much  did  Perdita  know— or  guess— concerning  the  truth 
of  the  gossip  against  which  she  was  directing  her  gal- 
lant sword-play? 

"Indeed,  it  is  not  necessary." 
"I  insist." 

435 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

They  stood  together  in  the  outer  hall  of  Mrs.  Mat- 
uring house,  separated  already,  it  would  seem,  by  a  uni- 
verse from  the  world  on  the  other  side  of  the  great  doors. 
In  his  presence  the  simplicity  of  one  strong  emotion 
governed  her.  She  forgot  her  jealousy,  her  distrust. 
He  was  hers ! 

He  drew  her  cloak  closer,  then  they  went  out  into 
the  night,  a  thick  black  globe  about  the  circle  of  the 
lighted  campus.  The  distance  to  her  home  was  short. 
He  measured  it  with  jealous  eyes. 

"Now  I  can  breathe,"  she  said,  raising  her  face  to 
the  impenetrable  sky. 

1 '  You  were  suffering, ' '  he  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Was  I  so  transparent?" 

"No.    I  suffered  too." 

"Once  you  looked  happy— all  the  strain  was  out  of 
your  face. ' ' 

"Miss  Eavenel  was  talking  of  you." 

She  was  silent. 

"Barbara!" 

"Yes." 

' '  What  is  the  use  of  prolonging  the  torture  ? ' ' 

' '  What  do  you  mean  ? ' '  she  said  faintly. 

"I  mean  that  if  you  made  your  decision,  the  de- 
cision you  must  make,  we  could  go  forward,  go  forward 
to  honorable  action— to  the  straight  path.  This  groping 
is  torturing  us  both." 

* t  But  what  is  the  straight  path  ? "  she  cried.  ' '  Surely 
not  this." 

"This,  yes,  if  it  lead  there— if  not,  misery  for  both 
of  us." 

"Lead  where?" 

436 


THE    LIFE-WARRANT 

"To  deeds,  to  action,"  he  said.  "The  revelation  to— 
your— to  Dr.  Penfold  of  the  false  relation  in  which  you 
stand  to  him." 

"Then?"  she  asked,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Wait,  we  are  almost  at  your  house.  Can't  we  walk 
up  and  down  the  farm  road  for  a  few  moments?  It  is 
deserted  at  this  hour." 

She  nodded. 

"I  should  go  in,  but  I  must  know  what  it  is  you  have 
to  say  to  me." 

The  farm  road  lay  a  few  rods  back  of  the  campus, 
and  led  from  the  University  barns  to  the  University 
fields.  A  gate  in  a  hedge  behind  the  houses  of  the  East 
Avenue  admitted  them  to  it.  Thick  darkness  closed 
them  in. 

"Do  you  know  the  way?" 

"Yes,  we  will  walk  toward  the  fields.  Take  my  arm, 
Barbara. ' ' 

"No." 

1 '  Give  me  your  hand,  then. ' ' 

She  gave  it  to  him,  and  he  clasped  it  tightly  in  his, 
which  was  ungloved.  They  walked  along  some  moments 
in  silence.  The  winter  world  lay  silent,  entombed  under 
the  weight  of  night. 

"Barbara!" 

"Yes." 

"It  is  in  your  power  to  take  us  to  the  straight 
path." 

"I  know,"  she  cried.  "We  are  false— false!  False 
to  him,  false  to  each  other.  Oh,  do  you  think  it  doesn't 
torture  me ;  do  you  think  that  this  doesn  't  torture !  We 
are  ruining  all  the  beauty  of  it,  all  the  glory  of  it,  with 

437 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

this  miserable  secrecy.  It  must  end.  I  must  go  away 
for  a  long,  long  time— or  you  must  go.  God  help  us, 
Richard." 

"Is  there  no  other  ending  but  separation?"  he  said 
hoarsely. 

She  suddenly  paused  in  the  road. 

"Take  me  back  to  the  avenue." 

"We  cannot  safely  talk  there." 

"We  cannot  safely  talk  here.  If  I  am  damned,  I 
shall  be  damned  openly.  This  darkness,  this  hiding, 
stifles  me.    I  cannot  bear  it." 

He  turned. 

"You  are  right.  It  is  maddening,  intolerable,  but  I 
tell  you,  it  is  in  your  power  to  end  it,  Barbara,  to  go  to 
the  straight  road." 

She  made  no  answer,  but  walked  quickly  along. 

When  they  reached  the  avenue  she  turned  her  face 
toward  him,  pale,  suffering,  but  with  a  certain  radiance 
of  triumph  in  it. 

"Now  let  us  walk  here  under  these  lights." 

"We  shall  meet  Mrs.  Maturin's  guests." 

"Never  mind." 

They  were  silent  for  some  moments. 

"Barbara!" 

"Richard!" 

"Are  you  going  to  ruin  two  lives— at  least?" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

1 '  How  are  you  going  to  settle  this  ? ' ' 

"We  can't  go  on— this  way,"  she  said,  in  a  low 
voice. 

1 '  No,  that  is  sure.    It  is  hateful  to  us  both. ' ' 

"I  see  nothing  but— but  absolute  separation." 
438 


THE    LIFE-WARRANT 

"Then  you  wish— to— ruin— two  lives?" 

1 '  God  help  me,  no ! " 

They  were  at  the  foot  of  the  path  leading  to  Mrs. 
Maturin's.  Dutton  and  Allaire  were  approaching  them, 
and  Dutton  cried  out  cheerily : 

"Hello,  you're  going  in  the  wrong  direction!" 

"We  were  taking  a  little  walk,"  Barbara  said,  turn- 
ing her  face  so  that  the  electric  light  should  not  fall 
upon  it.  "May  we— go  back— with  you!  Come,  Allaire, 
walk  with  me. ' ' 

The  young  girl  slipped  an  arm  through  Barbara's. 

"Very  dear  lady,  you  look  too  tired  for  any  exercise 
not  obligatory,"  she  said,  with  that  frankness  which 
never  embarrassed.  ' '  You  promise  me  to  take  a  drop  of 
the  incomparable  Amontillado  when  you  get  home  ? ' ' 

"Dear  Allaire— yes!" 

"I  was  keen  to  talk  with  you  to-night.  Where  were 
you?" 

"By  the  entrance  to  the  picture  gallery  most  of  the 
time." 

"Did  you  see  the  Lady  Perdita?  Her  gown  was  su- 
pernal.   She  was  provocante  in  that  deluding  blue. ' ' 

Barbara  smiled. 

1 '  You  don 't  think  blue  her  soul-color,  then  ? ' ' 

"Not  at  all.  She's  royal  purple,  with  just  a  tiny 
edge  of  scarlet. ' ' 

' *  And  what  is  my  color  ? ' ' 

"You  have  two— violet  and  gray." 

Barbara  gave  an  unconscious  sigh. 

' '  And  Mrs.  Joyce 's  is  a  gay  red ;  and  Mrs.  Maturin  's 
is  green ;  and  Mrs.  Cartwright— why  her  soul  is  just  like 
a  Persian  rug.    It  rests  you. ' ' 

439 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

"Oh,  Allaire,  what  a  whimsical  little  brain  you 
have. ' ' 

"No;  I  have  the  seeing  eyes." 

1 '  I  believe  you !    Are  you  never  bewildered ! ' ' 

Allaire  hesitated. 

"Dear,  I'll  tell  you  a  secret.  I'm  nearly  always  be- 
wildered. ' ' . 

1 '  But  you  act  gay  and  sure. ' ' 

1 '  I  whistle  to  keep  up  my  courage. ' ' 

"Even  since— Mr.  Dutton " 

"We  whistle  in  chorus— that's  the  difference.  It  is 
nicer. ' ' 

"I  should  think  so." 

The  four  paused  in  front  of  Dr.  Penf old's.  Dutton 
looked  anxious,  perturbed.  He  shook  Barbara's  hand 
warmly,  but  his  manner  toward  Waring  as  he  bade  him 
good-night  was  formal  and  aloof. 

Waring  himself  had  become  again  the  guest  at  Mrs. 
Maturin's.  He  made  no  reference  to  their  interrupted 
conversation,  but  proffered  commonplaces  in  full  suits 
of  buckram. 

At  the  door,  however,  he  lingered,  after  their  strained 
good-night. 

"To-morrow  at  the  Faculty  meeting  we  take  the  vote 
for  or  against  Rebbor's  gift.  May  I  come  and  tell  you 
about  it  afterward?  Dr.  Penfold  tells  me  that  he  will 
not  be  present." 

"Do  you  expect  to  lose— you  of  the  opposition?" 

' '  We  expect  to  win. ' ' 

Something  in  the  tone  of  his  voice  gave  to  the  words 
a  deeper  than  their  obvious  meaning,  a  meaning  empha- 

440 


THE    LIFE-WARRANT 

sized  by  his  straight,  commanding  look  into  her  eyes. 
The  desire  to  be  conquered  overwhelmed  her.  She  hur- 
ried in  lest  she  should  cry  out  to  him  "I  will  do  all  you 
say!" 

The  light  streaming  out  from  the  study  door  showed 
her  that  her  husband  was  still  at  work.  She  went  into 
the  parlor  and  drew  a  low  stool  before  the  fire.  Mehita- 
bel  came  to  the  door  and  asked  if  she  should  light  a 
lamp.    She  told  her  no. 

His  face  enthralled  her.  How  every  line  of  it  made 
its  own  appeal!— the  molding  of  the  square,  firm  chin; 
of  the.  proud,  sensitive  mouth;  of  the  clean-cut  brow 
above  the  deep-set  blue  eyes,  sometimes  so  boyish,  some- 
times so  old,  again  lit  with  their  dreams— a  patrician 
face,  with  the  melancholy  of  the  born  aristocrat  in  it. 
She  loved  in  him  that  contrast  between  the  unmistakable 
signs  of  race  and  his  frankly  democratic  sympathies,  his 
indifference  to  wealth,  his  socialistic  idealism. 

She  could  not  give  him  up.  Desolation  lay  that 
way— the  desolation  of  the  empty  house,  of  the  places 
where  he  was  not. 

She  smiled,  thinking  of  his  occasional  rudeness  and 
brusqueness  toward  her,  he  whose  courtesy  was  tradi- 
tional. That  she  had  broken  through  the  inviolable  gen- 
eral, reached  the  natural  man,  was  the  perpetual  miracle 
of  her  life,  making  all  things  new,  wonderful. 

How  could  she  give  up  this  bliss,  this  pain !  In  either 
aspect  precious  because  a  life-warrant. 

Yet  go  to  him  or  give  him  up  she  must.  Dalliance 
was  dishonest,  unbearable. 

If  she  went  to  him  there  was  but  one  road— the  road 
441 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

of  divorce— disgrace,  and  possible  suffering  to  her  hus- 
band—if not  suffering  at  least  bewilderment,  reproach. 
If  she  gave  him  up  there  could  be  no  half -measures.  He 
must  leave  Hallworth  or  she  must  leave  it.  As  her  ab- 
sence could  only  be  temporary,  the  obligation  fell  heavi- 
est on  him.  Yet  could  she  ask  him  to  make  this  sacrifice, 
to  give  up  at  once  both  herself  and  the  University,  al- 
most as  well-beloved? 

She  reflected  that  if  she  went  to  him  Hallworth  could 
no  longer  be  his  home.  The  University  blocked  the  way 
wherever  she  turned.  From  the  vague  abstraction  of 
her  freshman  year  it  had  become  almost  a  sentient  being 
bound  up  with  Waring 's  honor,  with  her  husband's 
honor,  with  the  affections  of  both.  Whatever  happened 
to  her,  Hallworth  was  lost  to  Richard.  With  her  or 
without  her  he  must  leave  it.  The  strain  upon  them  had 
become  too  great.  They  could  no  longer  act  before  their 
little  world,  nor  trust  themselves  with  each  other  when 
the  curtain  fell. 

Exile  for  a  son  of  Hallworth— and  because  of  her! 
If  she  had  not  sealed  their  love  with  her  kiss  on  that 
fatal  September  day,  would  he  now  stand  on  the  brink  of 
banishment?  No.  It  was  inevitable.  All  her  life  had 
led  to  this— the  soft,  safe  steps  of  her  childhood,  the 
dreams  of  her  girlhood— all  to  this  awakening. 

What  if  she  should  go  up-stairs  to  that  quiet  study, 
enter,  call  her  husband  from  an  incalculable  distance, 
he  answering,  patient,  courteous,  waiting  for  her  to 
speak  of  some  household  matter,  some  social  duty.  In- 
stead, her  blighting  word  that  she  did  not  love  him, 
never  had  loved  him— must  leave  him  now,  to  go  away 
with  Richard  Waring,  his  friend.     What  madness  was 

442 


THE    LIFE-WARRANT 

upon  her,  upon  Richard !    Had  she  killed  his  honor  with 
her  kiss  1 

"Barbara!" 

Her  husband's  voice  called  her  tremulous,  uncertain. 
At  first  she  thought  it  an  echo  of  her  own  perturbed 
heart.    Then  again  it  came. 

"Barbara!" 

She  hastened  into  the  hall.  Dr.  Penfold  was  stand- 
ing at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  peering  down  into  the  twi- 
light. 

"Is  that  you,  my  dear?  I  called  you  on  the  chance 
of  your  having  come  in. ' ' 

His  voice  was  husky,  and  he  coughed  as  he  spoke. 

She  ran  up  the  stairs. 

' '  What  can  I  do  for  you,  Amos  ? ' ' 

"I  think  I  have  a  cold  coming  on— and  I've  got  to 
head  it  off— somehow.  Could  you,  would  you,  brew  me 
something  hot  to  drink?" 

"Indeed,  yes!" 

She  turned  to  go  down-stairs,  then  turned  back 
again. 

' '  Have  you  a  good  fire  in  your  study !  Why,  it 's  out ! 
Go  down  into  the  parlor,  Amos.  This  room  is  as  cold 
as  a  barn. ' ' 

He  obeyed  with  something  of  the  majjner  of  a  child 
glad  to  be  chidden.  She  followed  him  with  a  heavy 
shawl  in  her  arms.  As  she  tucked  it  around  him,  set- 
tling him  in  an  armchair  before  the  parlor  fire,  her  hand 
touched  his. 

1 '  Why,  your  hands  are  like  ice ! " 
He  smiled. 

443 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

"My  dear,  I  knew  it  three  hours  ago,  and  I  hadn't 
the  sense  to  stop. ' ' 

"Hold  them  out  to  the  blaze,"  she  said,  stirring  the 
fire  vigorously.  He  watched  her  with  a  look  of  affec- 
tionate concern. 

"That's  fine!" 

1 '  Now  let  me  rub  them  a  moment. ' ' 

"You're  good  to  your  poor  old  husband!" 

She  turned  away  her  head. 

Later  she  brought  him  the  hot  drink  he  had  asked 
for,  watching  him  take,  long,  comforting  sips  of  it. 

"You  should  have  had  Mehitabel  bring  you  that 
hours  ago." 

"Ah,  but  she  doesn't  make  it  quite  like  you." 

A  slow  flush  mounted  to  her  forehead.  She  bent 
over  the  fire  to  hide  her  face  from  his  kind  gaze. 


444 


CHAPTER   XLV. 

THE  CHALLENGE. 

In  the  morning  Dr.  Penfold  was  better,  suddenly 
cured,  as  he  told  Barbara,  by  her  inimitable  methods. 
His  restoration  left  her  free  to  begin  to  expect  Waring 
almost  from  early  morning.  The  day  was  his  because 
he  was  coming  to  her,  at  some  great  hour  of  its  twenty- 
four. 

Afternoon  could  scarcely  bring  him,  for  the  Faculty 
meetings  sometimes  lasted  until  dinner.  Of  the  impor- 
tance of  this  one  she  was  vaguely  conscious,  but  the  issue 
left  her  cold.  Like  Browning's  Lazarus,  admitted  too 
far  into  the  spiritual  world,  she  had  lost  the  sense  of 
relativity;  the  confusions  which  lovers  introduce  into 
the  temperate  order  of  society  being  chiefly  due  to  their 
absolute  state  of  mind. 

The  evening  dragged  on.  She  read  Shelley  before 
the  parlor  fire,  trying  to  fix  her  thoughts  on  the  words, 
going  back  and  rereading,  because  their  meaning  had 
passed  through  her  brain  as  through  a  sieve. 

At  nine  o'clock  the  weight  of  a  whole  day's  expecta- 
tion bore  her  down  to  despair.    She  closed  the  book. 

But  as  she  rose  to  go  to  her  room  the  bell  rang,  and 
Waring  was  ushered  in. 

As  he  advanced  to  greet  her,  she  was  conscious  of  a 
fog  of  abstraction  about  him,  of  preoccupation,  rather, 
with  affairs  not  emotional.  He  looked  tired,  worn,  per- 
plexed.    A  pang  of  jealousy  hurt  her,  that  jealousy  of 

445 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

the  eternal  masculine  and  its  engrossing  affairs,  which 
more  than  any  other  feeling  reveals  to  a  woman  her  es- 
sential helplessness. 

"I  had  quite  given  you  up." 

' '  I  wanted  to  finish  an  editorial  I  was  on,  that  I  might 
inflict  it  upon  you." 

"You  look-fagged." 

"It  doesn't  set  you  up  to  lose  your  case." 

"You  mean ?" 

"I  mean  Hallworth  is  given  into  the  hands  of  the 
enemy. ' ' 

"Rebbor?" 

"Yes,  Rebbor  and  his  millions." 

His  voice  was  harsh,  almost  querulous,  the  lines  about 
his  mouth  bitter. 

"They  voted  for  him,  then?" 

"They  voted  for  his  gift.  They'll  have  to  take  him 
with  it." 

"Is  it  final?" 

"Absolutely." 

"Was  the  majority  large?" 

"Large  enough  to  show  that  Hallworth  'a  pretty  well 
dazzled. ' ' 

She  was  beginning  to  forget  her  claim  upon  his 
thoughts  in  her  sympathy  with  his  evident  trouble. 

"Tell  me  about  it  in  detail,"  she  said;  "tell  me  first 
how  much  capital  the  University  has,  and  what  this  gift 
means  to  it." 

He  looked  at  her,  a  light  of  tenderness  coming  into 
his  tired  eyes. 

"Would  you  really  like  to  know  about  it?" 

"I  would,  indeed." 

446 


THE    CHALLENGE 

"I  shall  have  to  go  back  to  the  beginning,  to  the 
very  foundation  of  Hallworth." 

1 '  Do.    That 's  just  where  I  'm  ignorant. ' ' 

She  settled  herself  in  her  chair.  For  more  than  an 
hour  he  related  the  history  of  the  University,  in  lan- 
guage sometimes  vivid  with  emotion,  as  if  he  spoke  not 
of  an  institution,  but  of  a  dearly  beloved  person,  whose 
growth,  not  unimpaired  by  false  steps,  had  been  on  the 
whole  straightforward,  healthy,  normal.  He  pictured 
John  Hallworth  to  her,  as  he  knew  him  by  tradition,  a 
plain  man,  but  of  a  life  as  honorable  as  it  had  been  in- 
dustrious and  far-seeing. 

"A  greater  contrast  to  Rebbor  you  could  not  imagine 
than  this  true  American  gentleman,  building  up  Hall- 
worth  first  on  his  ideals,  then  on  his  well-earned  fortune. 
He  was  no  gambler,  no  trickster,  but  a  poet  with  com- 
mon sense,  a  business  man  with  honor.  He  gave  us  land, 
he  gave  us  wealth;  but  above  everything  else  he  gave  us 
ideals— strong,  pure  democratic  standards.  I  wish  to 
God  he  were  living  now!" 

He  went  on  to  tell  her  in  detail  the  conditions  of  the 
foundation,  the  early  struggles  of  the  infant  institution, 
then  its  beautiful,  legitimate  growth  into  the  fair  city  of 
youth  which  it  now  was. 

As  he  talked  she  was  conscious,  under  even  the  dryest 
portions  of  the  historical  narrative,  of  his  repressed  en- 
thusiasm for  the  University,  not  only  the  objective  real- 
ity, but  a  reverence  almost  mystical,  for  "the  spiritual 
city  and  all  its  spires,"  that  unseen  Hallworth,  mother 
of  souls. 

If  her  decision,  coming  half-way  to  meet  her,  yet 
from  which  she  veiled  her  eyes,  should  lack  its  final 
29  447 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

appeal  to  him,  should  she  not  then  invoke  the  honor  of 
his  Alma  Mater,  as  compelling  them  both  to  their  great 
refusal.  But  the  hour,  with  its  ultimate  misery,  was  not 
yet  come. 

He  broke  off  suddenly. 

"What  is  it?  You  are  not  listening.  Please  come 
back." 

"Forgive  me." 

He  nodded,  staring  into  the  fire  with  eyes  again  aged. 
He  drew  a  long  breath,  then  went  on. 

To  his  belief  and  knowledge  the  University  did  not 
need  Rebbor's  gift,  unless  to  increase  those  lavish  ma- 
terial aids  to  learning  which,  brought  beyond  a  certain 
degree,  seemed  rather  to  deaden  than  to  quicken  schol- 
arship. 

"We  might  have  settled  down  to  ivy  and  mellow 
walls,  to  the  real  thing,  some  quietness,  some  peace — 
something  passive,  quaint,  yet  true,  like  the  Old  World 
learning.  But  this  gift— I  won't  talk  about  its  source— 
that's  all  in  the  editorial  you'll  have  to  listen  to— the 
editorial  goes  to  the  main  point— but  this  gift— it  sets 
things  going  in  the  machine  fashion,  the  automobile  way, 
which  seems  to  be  the  only  way  this  country  can  under- 
stand. As  if  wealth  could  produce  scholars !  They  think 
if  an  endowment  is  only  big  enough  they  can  turn  out 
degreed  men  by  the  thousand;  but  money  can't  make  a 
man  love  Horace;  nor  see  tears  in  Virgil's  eyes." 

He  faced  his  own  statement. 

"Oh,  I  know  that's  not  the  whole  of  it— there 're 
all  the  sciences,  and  the  mechanical  arts,  and  the  bully 
good  men  in  those  departments  need  the  best  Hall  worth 
can  give  them;  but  those  early  fellows,  those  graduates 

448 


THE    CHALLENGE 

of  the  seventies,  did  ripping  work  on  an  equipment  a 
freshman  would  laugh  at  to-day." 

1  ■  Did  you  always  feel  this  way  f ' '  she  questioned. 

"Not  when  I  was  an  undergraduate  playing  foot- 
ball. I  wanted  to  go  'round  the  globe,  howling  the  name 
of  Hallworth.  I  played  football  till  I  nearly  killed 
myself,  because  I  was  choked  up  with  the  glory  of  be- 
longing to  her,  and  didn't  know  how  else  to  work  it  off. 
Scholarship  seemed  too  obscure,  too  inadequate." 

She  smiled. 

'  ■  But  you  did  big  things.  ■ ' 

"I  had  a  faculty  for  mathematics— and— and  Dr. 
Penfold " 

He  broke  off,  and,  leaning  over,  put  some  wood  upon 
the  fire. 

"And  now?" 

"Now  it's  the  inner  glory  counts  most.  It's  not 
money  Hallworth  wants;  it's  men  who  will  learn  the  art 
of  scholarship  at  her  knees— be  her  jewels." 

He  smiled  at  the  triteness  of  the  simile. 

She  sighed. 

"Is  it  scholarship  only?" 

"What  is  your  meaning?" 

"Should  Hallworth  cherish  character?"  she  said 
brokenly,  menaced  by  this  ideal  which  he,  unconscious 
of  the  application  she  was  making  of  it,  had  drawn  for 
her.  Was  it  possible  that,  having  this  reverence  for  the 
University  of  his  love,  he  had  never  considered  his  per- 
sonal life  as  capable  of  reflecting  honor  or  dishonor  upon 
it?  No,  he  must  have  thought  of  it,  adding  thereby  to 
his  suffering,  his  struggle.  But  she  felt  compelled  to 
ask  him. 

449 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

"You  mean ?"  he  questioned,  again  knitting  his 

brows. 

"Scholarship  comes  first— or  does  character  count  as 
much  in  the  honoring  of  Hallworth f ' ' 

He  smiled. 

"The  President  says  the  University  is  not  a  reforma- 
tory!" 

Again  her  question  faced  her. 

"What  do  you  think?" 

His  eyes  grew  sombre. 

"It  is  too  big  a  question  to  begin— to  answer  to- 
night.   We— should  never  get  to  the  editorial." 

He  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket — drew  out  some  manu- 
script. 

'  *  I  wrote  this,  after  the  meeting. ' ' 

"After  your  dinner!" 

"I  skipped  dinner." 

"You  should  not  do  that." 

He  seemed  not  to  hear  her,  his  eyes  glancing  down 
his  first  page. 

"It's  only  a  rough  draft,  but  it'll  tell,  perhaps,  what 
it's  going  to  be.    You  are  not  tired ? " 

"No." 

Again  she  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  studying  his 
face,  grown  these  last  months  singularly  ascetic,  like, 
barring  its  modern  expression,  that  of  a  monk  in  some 
Renaissance  canvas.  Pain  had  given  a  finer  chiseling  to 
the  features,  a  deeper  setting  to  the  eyes.  In  them  was 
a  look  as  of  a  soul  suspended,  between  two  fates,  two 
persons,  two  roles,  either  of  which  once  entered  upon 
would  be  played  with  abandonment ;  with  life  and  death 
passion. 

450 


THE    CHALLENGE 

Her  eyes  were  drawn  from  his  face  by  the  growing 
consciousness  of  the  import  of  what  he  was  reading. 
His  voice,  hurried,  but  clear  and  sharp,  bit  off  the  words 
almost  angrily.  She  listened,  first  in  wonder,  then  with 
a  trepidation  which  seemed  prophetic  of  his— martyr- 
dom?—or  mere  folly. 

When  he  had  finished  she  was  silent. 

"Well?"  he  said. 

"You  can't  publish  it.    You  mustn't." 

"Why  not?" 

"Are  you  sure  of  your  facts?" 

"I've  been  gathering  them  the  last  three  months 
from  unimpeachable  sources." 

"Then  he  is  a  wicked  man!" 

"He's  not— St.  Francis." 

"He's  a-thief!" 

"Yes." 

"But  you  have  said  so." 

"Not  quite  in  so  many  words.  I've  simply  given 
facts." 

"It  comes  to  the  same  thing.  What  would  the  Uni- 
versity do  to  you  if  you  published  that  record  of  his 
business  career  in  College  and  State?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"You  have  not  thought  that  far?"  she  said,  with 
earnest  reproach. 

"I  have  thought  miles  beyond  it." 

"It  is  a  terrible  risk  to  run,"  she  said.  "It  is  noble 
of  you  to  say  why  this  gift  should  not  be  accepted  by  the 
University ;  but  if  it  is  futile  to  protest  now,  why  do  it- 
why  risk " 

She  hesitated. 

451 


THE    LAW    OF    LIFE 

"I  want  the  students  to  know  the  facts.  The  busi- 
ness world  already  knows  them.  Hallworth  has  not  be- 
come such  a  despotism  that  the  students  might  not 
eventually  demand  and  be  granted  the  displacement  of 
Rebbor." 

1 1  With  the  return  of  his  money  ? ' ' 

"With  the  return  of  his  money.  The  one  involves 
the  other.  What  other  business  could  Hallworth  possi- 
bly have  with  him?" 

She  was  silent. 

"Of  course,  I  do  not  know  the  full  weight  of  all  these 
affairs ;  but  since  Rebbor  has  been  elected  a  trustee,  and 
the  gift  accepted,  it  seems  to  me  a  useless  sacrifice— a 
useless  challenge." 

"But— I  wanted  you  to  know— to  feel  with  me  that 
it  is  imperative— that  I  cannot  do  otherwise  than  pub- 
lish this." 

She  knit  her  brows,  longing  to  be  at  one  with  him. 

"It  will  anger  the  President,"  she  said. 

"Perhaps.  He's  a  cool  opponent  as  a  rule— always 
deadly  sure  of  winning.  No  doubt  he  will  ignore  it. 
College  and  State  is  not  an  official  organ  of  the  Univer- 
sity." 

"But  I  am  afraid " 

She  hesitated. 

"Of  what?" 

She  shook  her  head,  knowing  that  her  fears  were 
closely  bound  up  with  that  emotion  which  was  ever 
sending  him  into  exile,  and  ever  fearful  that  he  should 
go. 

"You  see  I  don't  attack  him.  I  don't  comment  on  his 
gift  to  the  University.     That  isn't  necessary.    I  simply 

452 


THE    CHALLENGE 

give  figures,  state  facts— facts  known  from  Maine  to 
California  by  an  older  generation— not  perhaps  byt  these 
boys." 

''Read  it  again." 

He  did  as  she  asked,  this  time  more  slowly.  When 
he  finished  she  said: 

"I  should  like— Dr.  Penfold  to  hear  it— if  you  will!" 

He  looked  at  her  with  an  earnest,  questioning  ex- 
pression. 

' '  It  doesn  't  carry  conviction  to  you,  then  ? ' ' 

"Indeed,  yes!  It  carries  too  much;  that's  just  the 
trouble!" 

"Is  Dr.  Penfold  at  work?" 

'Yes;  but  I  think  he  would  not  mind  an  interrup- 
tion." 

She  excused  herself  and  went  to  her  husband's 
study,  most  anxious  that  he  should  advise  Waring  not 
to  publish  the  article.  With  the  keen  intuition  of  love 
she  saw  the  consequences  of  its  publication.  If  he  were 
banished  from  the  University  it  must  be  a  self-imposed 
banishment,  not  an  official  one.  She  dreaded  the  pre- 
cipitation of  events,  holding  out  frail  hands  against 
them  until  she  herself  was  calm  enough  to  guide  them. 
That  hour  was  not  yet  come. 

"Amos,  Mr.  Waring  is  here.  He  has  written  some- 
thing about  John  Rebbor  for  College  and  State.  Could 
you  give  him  a  few  minutes?  I  want  him  to  read  it  to 
you." 

"Why,  certainly.    Ask  him  to  come  up." 

She  called  him  from  the  head  of  the  stairs  in  a  voice 
that  was  not  quite  firm. 

Dr.  Penfold  greeted  him  warmly,  as  always.  For 
453 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

Waring  he  felt  a  peculiar  affection,  the  result  of  long 
association,  and  of  pride  in  his  achievements,  as  in  a 
sense  the  fruit  of  his  own. 

"They  voted  ftebbor  in,  then?" 

"Him  and  his  millions— I  believe  ground  is  to  be 
broken  soon  for  the  new  observatory. ' ' 

1 '  That  gem  of  a  telescope  does  need  a  better  setting. ' ' 

Waring  smiled. 

"I'm  afraid  you're  with  the  enemy." 

"I'm  on  neutral  ground,  as  usual.  It  takes  too 
much  time  to  be  a  partisan.  Barbara  says  you've  writ- 
ten something  about  this  man." 

They  settled  themselves  to  listen,  Barbara  sitting 
straight  and  tense  in  a  high-backed  chair,  her  fingers 
playing  nervously  with  some  lace  on  her  gown ;  her  hus- 
band and  Richard  seated  in  the  circle  of  light  made  by 
the  student-lamp,  both  heads  near  together  sharply  con- 
trasted in  modeling  and  in  expression;  one  showing  the 
stress  of  thought,  the  other  of  emotion. 

Waring  read  slowly,  calmly.  This  third  reading  re- 
vealed to  Barbara  a  certain  perilous  cleverness  in  the 
mere  technique  of  the  article,  giving  the  impression  of 
its  deliberate  birth. 

Dr.  Pen  fold  listened  with  impassive  attention. 
When  Waring  finished  he  said : 

"As  a  bit  of  biography  it's  good  enough  for  a  Na- 
tional Encyclopedia ;  but,  my  dear  boy,  you  '11  need  your 
courage  if  it's  published !" 

Waring  smiled. 

"My  courage  is  buttoned  up  tight." 

"Do  you  think  it  will  mend  matters  if  it  is  pub- 
lished?" 

454 


THE    CHALLENGE 

"It  may  stir  them  up." 

"Forgive  me,  but  do  you  think  you  can  cope  with 
them  after  they  are  stirred  up  ? ' ' 

' '  I  am  counting  on  support. ' ' 

Dr.  Penfold  nodded. 

"Rebbor's  a  pretty  big  factor — I  like  your  courage, 
but  I'm  afraid  it  will  be  useless." 

"Thank  you  for  telling  me  honestly  what  you  do 
think  about  it.  I  am  afraid  I'll  have  to  go  on  with  it. 
From  the  first  the  gift,  the  conditions,  everything  about 
it  seemed  wrong  to  me.  I  can't  keep  still.  I  think  the 
students  ought  to  know." 

"Perhaps— well,  I  like  your  pluck,  but  I  don't  want 
to  see  you  in  trouble.    I  couldn't  spare  you,  you  know." 

His  voice  held  a  note  of  affection.  Barbara,  trem- 
bling with  ill-repressed  emotion,  saw  the  slow  flush 
mount  to  Waring 's  forehead. 

She  scarcely  slept  that  night.  In  her  husband's 
house  she  could  not  speak  to  Waring  as  if  she  had  any 
claim  upon  him ;  could  not  beg  him  to  defer  at  least  the 
publication  of  the  article. 

She  resolved  to  see  him  the  next  day,  to  ask  him  in 
the  name  of  what  they  meant  to  each  other  not  to  do 
anything  which  should  imperil  his  position  at  Hallworth. 

Her  husband's  lecture-room  adjoined  Waring 's, 
whose  hour  was  at  ten.  A  few  moments  before  that  time 
she  went  to  Monroe  Hall  on  the  chance  of  meeting  him. 
When  she  reached  the  top  of  the  stairs  she  heard  his 
quick  footsteps  behind  her,  turned  to  see  the  sudden 
lighting  of  his  eyes. 

"Can  I  do  anything  for  you?" 
455 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

"Yes;  come  to  the  ravine  bridge  this  afternoon  at 
four.    I  must  see  you. ' ' 

"It  will  help  me  through  the  day." 

She  left  him  abruptly,  fearing  to  meet  his  students. 
On  the  way  home  her  deed  confronted  her  with  chal- 
lenging questions.  Was  the  root  of  her  fear  the  desire 
to  keep  him,  not  the  desire  to  save  him  from  possible 
conflict  with  the  University? 

On  the  other  hand  she  discerned  recklessness  in  his 
determination  to  publish  the  article  at  any  cost.  Did  he 
really  wish  to  leave  Hallworth?  Was  his  courage  in 
exposing  Rebbor  reinforced  by  the  conviction  that  he 
must  in  any  case  leave  the  University?  If  he  left  it 
did  he  believe  that  he  should  not  go  alone? 

Her  fears  and  doubts  tormented  her.  She  would 
ask  him  frankly  when  they  met  what  he  meant  by  look- 
ing miles  beyond  the  publication  of  the  article. 

The  day  wore  into  afternoon.  A  few  minutes  before 
four  she  started  on  her  walk,  a  tall,  slender  figure  in  her 
dark  gown,  large  dark  hat  and  long  gray  furs.  At  her 
throat  was  a  red  rose. 

He  came  to  meet  her  as  she  crossed  the  bridge. 

"Shall  we  go  the  forest  road?" 

1 '  Yeg ;  but  we  must  keep  to  it. ' ' 

He  nodded  assent. 

They  walked  on  for  some  moments  in  silence.  Then 
he  said: 

"What  is  it  that  you  have  to  say  to  me?  I  have  im- 
agined a  thousand  things.  I  am  afraid  my  classes  suf- 
fered." 

"Richard!"  she  said  impetuously,  "you  must  not 
publish  that  article." 

456 


THE    CHALLENGE 

"Why?" 

"Have  you  thought  that  it  might  end  in  your  leav- 
ing Hall  worth!" 

"Remotely,  perhaps." 

1 '  Do  you  want  it  to  end  in  your  leaving  Hall  worth  I ' ' 

"  I  'd  do  anything  to  save  the  honor  of  Hallworth. ' ' 

"I  suppose  it  is  inevitable,  anyway,"  she  said  bit- 
terly, "and  what  we  must  both  face." 

"What  are  you  speaking  of?"  he  demanded. 

"Your  leaving  Hallworth." 

"Would  you  let  me— go  alone?" 

She  was  silent,  dumb  with  her  miserable  fears. 

"Would  you  let  me— go  alone?"  he  repeated. 

' '  Oh,  don 't  ask  me !    I  can 't  bear  it. ' ' 

She  felt  as  if  his  will,  strong  because  acting  for  what 
he  believed  to  be  right,  was  drawing  her  inevitably  to  a 
sinful  decision. 

"Barbara,  I  have  to  bear  it.  Have  you  no  mercy 
toward  me?" 

She  stopped  in  the  path. 

"I  cannot  talk  any  more  about  it  to-day,"  she  said 
unsteadily. 

"I  will  turn  back  now— you  go  on." 

He  was  silent. 

"Some  day  I  can  talk  about  it,  perhaps— in  quiet- 
ness—not yet." 

She  turned  and  left  him  abruptly.  The  loneliness 
always  lying  in  wait  for  her  when  she  passed  from  his 
presence  stole  a  gaunt,  gray  wolf  to  her  side.  She  hesi- 
tated, looked  toward  him.  He  was  still  standing  mo- 
tionless, his  head  bared.  She  turned  again,  hurried  on 
lest  she  should  go  back  to  him,  give  him  her  word. 

457 


CHAPTER  XLYI. 

AN  APPEAL. 

The  Emperor  was  lying  back  among  the  cushions  of 
her  divan  after  a  day's  struggle  with  peculiarly  stub- 
born post-graduate  work.  Her  long  hair,  loosened  for 
rest,  framed  a  face  paler  even  than  usual,  a  white  mask 
for  dark  emotions— emotions  not  wholly  her  own. 

Mistrust  of  her  own  temperament  was  habitual  with 
her.  Realizing  the  nature  of  that  personal  magnetism 
which  had  been  a  birth-gift,  she  divined  early  that  she 
fascinated  others  but  seldom  won  their  affections. 

But  the  temptation  to  use  her  power  was  weakened 
by  her  faculty  for  far  perspectives,  by  a  certain  genuine 
wholesomeness  deep  down  in  her  nature.  She  would  in- 
evitably look  beyond  possible  delirious  nights  to  the 
grayest  of  workaday  dawns.  Her  spirit,  impenetrable 
to  many  as  midnight,  had  an  almost  religious  reverence 
for  the  sanities  of  high  noon. 

In  the  University  she  had  earned  a  reputation  for 
coldness,  for  essential  heartlessness  which  few  knew 
was  in  reality  self -protection— the  protection  of  others 
against  herself.  She  would  tease  them,  play  with  them, 
make  them  suffer— if  they  were  men— but  they  should 
not  lose  their  souls  through  her. 

In  all  her  life  she  had  met  but  one  person  whom, 
wishing  to  sway,  she  could  not  sway.  She  had  left 
many  be  as  she  found  them,  because  their  temperaments 

458 


AN    APPEAL 

offered  no  temptation  to  her,  but  with  this  one  exception 
she  had  ruled  where  she  wanted  to  rule. 

That  she  had  not  been  able  to  dominate  Barbara 
when  Barbara  was  a  freshman  had  set  the  younger 
woman  apart  as  the  recipient  of  a  real  affection,  her 
genuine  devotion,  which,  once  awakened,  took  on  a 
changelessness,  lifted  like  death  above  the  accidents  of 
time. 

It  was  of  Barbara  that  she  was  thinking  now.  From 
the  evening  when  she  had  dressed  her  for  her  first  din- 
ner-party, only  to  see  her  childlike  joy  killed  in  an  in- 
stant by  a  scholar's  preoccupation,  she  had  followed  the 
growth  of  the  tragedy  with  eyes  that  missed  no  slightest 
detail.  Waring  himself  had  become  a  living  daily  letter 
from  Barbara,  transmitting  her  moods,  her  struggles,  by 
his  silence,  his  sadness,  his  neglect  of  his  work,  his  occa- 
sional irritability— all  forms  of  that  unspoken  language 
which  the  Emperor  knew  better  than  any  spoken  tongue. 
"Working  at  his  side  day  in  and  day  out,  she  anticipated 
by  intuition  the  development  of  his  emotion.  That  it 
was  approaching  a  crisis  many  signs  showed  her,  among 
them  the  reckless  article  on  Rebbor's  business  career. 

She  had  said  to  him  frankly  that  morning  that  a  Don 
Quixote's  armor  might  turn  out  to  be  but  cap  and  bells. 
He  had  smiled,  but  made  no  answer.  His  perfect  ab- 
sence of  resentment  told  her  much. 

The  editorial  concerned  her  less  through  its  possible 
results  to  Waring  as  a  member  of  the  University  than  as 
an  indication  of  his  mood  of  abandonment. 

She  did  not  believe  in  playing  Providence  to  her 
friends,  knowing  that  salvation  can  never  be  thrust 
upon  you.    Moreover  she  attempted  no  spiritual  flights. 

459 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

She  was  at  one  with  Waring  in  his  unspoken  belief  that 
Barbara's  marriage,  being  unnatural,  should  be  dis- 
solved. 

But  her  intelligence  was  too  keen  not  to  perceive  that 
a  woman  of  Barbara's  temperament  might  succumb  to 
temptation,  just  because  in  high  disdain  of  such  earthly 
short-cuts  to  joy  as  a  divorce-court  she  was  treading  the 
heaviest  way.  The  too-weary  moment  might  surprise 
her,  disarm  her,  send  her  to  his  breast. 

And  he?  The  Emperor  did  not  think  he  would  will- 
ingly dishonor  the  wife  of  his  friend,  but  she  played  no 
high  stakes  on  any  one  in  love — man  or  woman.  Love, 
to  her  mind,  made  lunatics  of  people.  They  did  and 
said  the  silliest  things— that  was  comedy !  They  did  and 
said  the  maddest  things— that  was  tragedy!  What  mo- 
ment madness  might  seize  Richard  and  Barbara  was 
known  only  to  the  gods,  and  with  the  gods  the  Emperor 
liked  to  tilt. 

But  save  Barbara  from  the  too-weary  moment  she 
would  if  she  had  to  track  her  very  footsteps. 

"If  she  sinned  she  would  kill  herself!  God  knows 
I  must  keep  her  in  the  world— I  need  her." 

But  the  thought  brought  with  it  the  inevitable  criti- 
cal reflection.  Was  she  taking  a  too  highly  colored  view 
of  the  situation,  weaving  a  melodrama  without  founda- 
tion in  fact,  giving  herself  up  to  sophomoric  specula- 
tion? 

No,  the  danger  was  real,  she  had  seen  enough  to  see 
that. 

Her  question  called  upon  Barbara,  and  as  if  in  an- 
swer the  door  opened  and  Barbara  herself  entered. 

"Did  you  say  'Come  in'?" 
460 


AN    APPEAL 

"Yes,  in  my  thoughts.    I  did  not  hear  you  knock.' ' 

"Don't  get  up." 

"I've  no  intention  of  getting  up.  I've  worked  like  a 
galley-slave  to-day— but  I'm  glad  to  see  you." 

Barbara  came  to  the  edge  of  the  divan  and  looked 
down  upon  the  Emperor.  She  wore  the  dress  she  had 
worn  on  the  walk  that  afternoon.  Her  face  above  the 
gray  fur  looked  pinched  and  negative. 

' '  I  thought  I  should  find  you  here  if  I  came  as  late  as 
ten.  I  knew  you'd  not  mind,  being  an  owl,  and  of 
course  no  one  ever  goes  to  bed  in  my  home— at  least 
Mehitabel  and  Dr.  Penfold  never  do." 

She  spoke  in  a  tired,  lifeless  voice. 

"Takeoff  your  hat." 

"Can  I  really  stay  a  while?" 

1 '  Until  morning  if  you  want. ' ' 

She  removed  her  wraps,  then  came  again  to  the  edge 
of  the  divan.  Her  manner  was  nervous,  as  if  she  wished 
to  say  something  and  have  it  over.  The  Emperor  re- 
garded her.  with  non-committal  eyes. 

"Well,  are  we  aged  or  young  to-night?" 

Barbara  smiled. 

"Old  as  the  Pyramids,  and  correspondingly  tired. 
May  I  lie  down  beside  you?" 

For  answer  the  Emperor  made  room. 

Barbara  hesitated  a  moment,  then  stretched  herself 
on  the  divan  with  a  sigh  of  weariness,  burying  her  cheek 
in  a  cushion. 

"How  restful  this  low  light  is.  I  must  not  go  to 
sleep.    I  have  something  to  ask  you." 

"What  is  it?" 

461 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

"It  is— it  is  that  you  will  influence  Mr.  Waring  not 
to  publish  that  editorial." 

"So  he  has  read  it  to  you?  I'm  glad.  I  don't  ap- 
prove of  it  myself.  Perhaps  between  us  we  can  per- 
suade him  to  throw  it  into  the  office  stove,  where  it 
properly  belongs." 

"Dr.  Penfold  heard  it,  too,"  Barbara  went  on  hast- 
ily. ' '  He  thinks  it  is  all  right  in  the  abstract,  but  that  it 
is  not  wise  to  publish  it. ' ' 

The  Emperor  nodded.  She  looked  down  at  the  dark 
head  on  her  arm,  wondering  how  far  its  thoughts  went 
along  with  hers. 

"I  don't  know  what  I  can  do  to  prevent  it;  but  I 
know  how  you  feel— all  of  us— all  of  his— friends 
would  want  to  save  him  from  a  battle  so  hopeless  that  it's 
ridiculous.  A  lost  cause  is  better  let  alone  unless  it  isn't 
lost." 

Barbara  smiled  faintly  at  this  bull. 

"I'm  glad  you  understand  how  I— how  we  feel— Dr. 
Penfold  and— and  myself.    If  it  could  do  any  good!" 

"It  won't,"  the  Emperor  said  shortly. 

Barbara  sighed. 

They  lay  still  and  silent,  each  absorbed  in  her  own 
thoughts.    At  last  Barbara  spoke. 

"Are  you  sure— quite  sure— it  wouldn't  do  any 
good?" 

"Quite  sure." 

"So  it— it  is  friendly  to  prevent  it?" 

"A  perfect  obligation  of  friendship." 

"And  you'll  do  what  you—can?" 

"All  lean." 

"Thank  you." 

462 


AN   APPEAL 

Again  they  were  silent. 

"How  is  Elizabeth?" 

"She's  not  at  all  well.    I  made  her  go  to  bed  early." 

A  pang  of  reproach  hurt  Barbara. 

"Has  she  been  unwell  long?    I  so  seldom  see  her." 

"She  has  been  feverish  and  miserable  for  over  a 
week.    It  may  be  nothing  more  than  a  heavy  cold." 

"I  hope  so.  Will  you  let  me  know  if  I  can  do  any- 
thing?" 

"Yes,  Barbara." 

"I'll  look  in  to  see  her  to-morrow.  I  don't  want  to 
neglect  her— but— but  I've  been  absorbed." 

"Yes,  Barbara." 

Again  they  were  silent. 
1 '  Emperor ! ' ' 
"Yes." 

"Could  you  love— a  wicked  person?" 
"No." 

Barbara  raised  herself  to  a  sitting  posture.    Her  face 
in  the  dim  light  looked  pale  and  strained. 
' '  I  must  go  back, ' '  she  said. 
"Why?    Are  they  expecting  you?" 
"No  one— expects  me." 
"Barbara?" 
"Yes." 

"I  am  about  to  make  a  remark  that  hasn't  grown  up, 
but  sometimes  you  and  I  should  forget  how  old  we  are. " 

The  faint  smile  about  her  lips  revealed  self -mockery. 
Barbara  turned  and  looked  down  at  her. 

"Well?" 

30  463 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

' '  It  is  that  if  I  can  ever  help  you  in  any  way  you  will 
let  me  do  it.    I  think  you  could— trust  me." 

"It  is  myself  I  cannot  trust,"  Barbara  said,  then, 
fearful  of  involuntary  revelation,  she  rose  quickly  and 
made  ready  to  go. 


464 


CHAPTER  XLVIL 

THE  REPRIEVE. 

The  President  sat  in  his  library,  before  his  work- 
table,  motionless  as  the  bronze  god  on  a  pedestal  near 
him.  Among  his  papers  lay  a  copy  of  College  and  State 
face  down,  its  leaves  rumpled,  as  if  flung  there  hastily. 

Nothing  broke  the  silence  of  the  room  but  the  ticking 
of  a  tall  clock,  the  heavy  breathing  of  a  sleeping  hound. 

Over  the  face  of  the  man  at  the  desk  fleeting  ex- 
pressions followed  one  the  other,  each  as  it  came  seem- 
ing final,  about  to  merge  wholly  with  the  fine,  scholarly 
features,  then  melting  away. 

At  last  the  look  hardened  into  one  of  anger— well- 
bred  anger,  poised,  determined.  He  took  up  College  and 
State  again,  turned  to  a  certain  page,  read. 

He  laid  the  magazine  down,  this  time  with  careful- 
ness. Rising,  he  paced  the  long  room,  his  hands  behind 
his  back,  his  head  bowed. 

He  had  followed  Waring 's  career  with  an  interest 
into  which  the  personal  element  entered  largely.  This 
young  man  was,  in  a  sense,  the  very  embodiment  of  qual- 
ities associated  as  a  rule  less  with  life  than  with  tales  of 
chivalry,  and  for  that  very  reason,  Dr.  Hunt  thought, 
out  of  place  in  usual  society.  To  afford  such  a  tempera- 
ment as  his  you  should  have  a  setting  of  Gothic  archi- 
tecture. The  President,  a  Grecian  by  nature  as  well  as 
scholarship,  had  a  horror  of  all  extremes.  Waring's 
medieval  tendencies  seemed  continually  veering  to  the 

4Go 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

superlative.  Yet  because  the  young  man  was,  in  Dr. 
Hunt's  opinion,  a  hopeless  idealist,  he  was  drawn  to  him 
by  the  attraction  of  opposites,  reinforced  by  the  genuine- 
ness of  his  intellectual' gifts.  Disapproving  of  the  prin- 
ciple inculcated  in  College  and  State,  the  President  was 
won  over  in  spite  of  himself  by  a  cleverness  so  flattering 
to  the  University.  Beginning  with  admiration  of  War- 
ing 's  talents,  he  ended  by  unmanifested  affection  for  the 
man  himself. 

A  keen  observer  of  the  members  of  the  Faculty  in 
their  social  as  well  as  in  their  official  life,  Waring 's  de- 
votion to  Mrs.  Penfold  had  not  escaped  the  President's 
eye.  But  his  only  judgment  was  a  kind  of  cynical 
amusement  over  the  phenomenon,  as  confirming  his  be- 
lief that  chivalry  has  its  essential  dangers. 

Waring 's  opposition  to  Rebbor's  gift  he  had  counted 
upon,  but  looked  for  an  end  of  it  with  the  final  vote 
of  the  Faculty.  That  he  should  dare  to  expose  the  busi- 
ness career  of  the  new  trustee  in  his  magazine  was  be- 
yond his  wildest  conception. 

He  paced  up  and  down  the  room,  revolving  plans 
of  action.  Melampus,  imperturbable  but  not  unsympa- 
thetic, watched  his  master  from  the  hearth-rug. 

At  last  the  President  went  out  into  the  hall,  and  put 
on  his  hat  and  coat,  resisting  his  impulse  by  the  feigned 
intention  of  a  walk  to  the  library,  but  knowing  full  well 
his  inevitable  goal. 

He  found  Perdita  reading  a  German  novel  in  her 
drawing-room.  Her  copy  of  College  and  State  lay  on  the 
table  uncut. 

After  a  few  moments  of  desultory  conversation  he 
pointed  to  the  magazine. 

466 


THE    REPRIEVE 

"Richard  Waring  distinguishes  himself  in  this  new 
number. ' ' 

"Does  he-how?" 

"He  gives  a  detailed  account  of  John  Rebbor's  busi- 
ness career." 

"Not  really!" 

Perdita  sat  up  straight  in  her  chair.  Under  her  as- 
tonishment was  a  quick  throb  of  sympathy  for  such 
daring. 

"It  is  of  course  interesting  reading,"  the  President 
went  on  dryly;  "but  its  audacity  is  untimely." 

4  *  He  has  certainly  the  courage  of  his  convictions ! ' ' 

She  reached  for  the  magazine,  turned  to  the  article, 
ran  over  it  once  or  twice,  drawing  her  breath  in  with  a 
little  gasp  of  astonishment. 

4  4  Heavens !    Is  it  true ! ' ' 

The  President  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"I  suppose  he  has  been  careful  in  the  sifting  of  his 
facts." 

"The  lover  of  Giorgione's  monk  the  hero  of  this 
record ! ' ' 

The  President  smiled. 

"So  it  seems.  Hallworth,  I'm  afraid,  will  have  to 
dispense  with  Mr.  Waring 's  services.  This  is  unneces- 
sary, uncalled  for. ' ' 

1 '  But  not  untrue, ' '  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"My  dear  lady,  that  isn't  the  point !" 

4  4  You  honestly  don 't  think  it  is  !  M 

"  No ;  I  do  not.  We  are  not  concerned  with  this  rec- 
ord—we never  were.  It  is  indecent  of  this  boy  to  fling 
it  in  the  face  of  Hallworth." 

4  4  You  mean  the  deed 's  indecent,  not  the  record. ' ' 
467 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

■  •  Oh,  as  for  the  record,  what  business  bears  examina- 
tion in  these  days  1 ' ' 

"So  you  are  going  to  punish  him?" 

"It  is  inevitable." 

"Wait,"  she  said  softly.  "Take  no  notice  of  it 
whatever.     Watch  for  the  effect." 

"You  think  silence W 

' '  Oh,  silence  is  best.  He  should  have  published  it  be- 
fore, not  after,  the  vote— but  silence  is  best— at  pres- 
ent." 

"If  John  Rebbor  should  see  it?" 

"  He 's  not  likely  to.    Isn  't  he  still  abroad  ? ' ' 

"I  don't  think  I  can  pass  this  by." 

She  looked  at  him  long  and  earnestly. 

"I  ask  it." 

He  rose,  paced  up  and  down  the  room,  went  to  the 
windows,  turned  to  her  at  last. 

"Very  well— but  I  shall  keep  the  axe  suspended  over 
this  amazingly  clever  head ! " 

! '  And  warn  me  before  you  cut  the  thread  ? ' '  she  said, 
smiling. 

"And  warn  you  before  I  cut  the  thread." 


468 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

THE   CRUCIFIX. 

The  silence  of  the  President  passed  unnoticed  among 
the  voices  of  the  University  commenting  upon  Waring 's 
article.  The  members  of  the  Faculty,  whether  they 
agreed  with  the  writer's  theories  or  not,  were  unanimous 
in  condemnation  of  his  unnecessary  recklessness.  The 
household  of  Hallworth,  having  admitted  Rebbor,  felt  in 
honor  bound  to  support  him.  This  ebullition  of  youth 
gave  them  the  sensation  of  a  sudden  discovery  that  all 
the  members  of  the  family  had  not  grown  up. 

With  the  students,  on  the  other  hand,  Waring  grew 
in  stature  until  he  overshadowed  even  the  President. 
What  his  peers  called  recklessness  they  called  courage 
and  honor.  He  himself  had  hard  work  to  escape  the 
various  offerings  of  their  enthusiasm.  He  had  not 
counted  on  its  taking  the  form  of  personal  devotion. 
That  they  should  waylay  him  on  the  campus,  in  the  li- 
brary, in  the  lecture-room,  to  ask  him  questions,  to  shake 
his  hand,  to  tell  him  how  much  they  admired  his  hon- 
esty, seemed  to  him  a  pitiable  diversion  of  force  from  its 
proper  goal.  He  set  himself  at  once  the  difficult  task  of 
focusing  this  enthusiasm  where  the  conflagration  was 
most  necessary,  telling  them  when  they  asked  what  was 
to  be  done  that  the  removal  of  Rebbor  and  the  return  of 
his  money  was  in  their  power,  if  they  only  exercised 
it  rightly.     In  consequence,  though  the  League  took  no 

469 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

official  notice  of  Waring 's  article,  it  was  the  uppermost 
topic  whenever  students  met. 

That  he  shrank  from  their  admiration  was  not  due 
alone  to  his  desire  that  they  should  turn  their  exclusive 
attention  to  the  new  trustee,  but  from  the  instinctive, 
deep-buried  feeling  that  he  himself  was  scarcely  the  man 
to  pose  as  a  champion  of  honor.  His  self-knowledge, 
however,  bore  as  yet  only  the  fruit  of  a  determination 
to  have  his  way  with  Barbara.  He  would  exercise  the 
utmost  enchantments  of  their  mutual  passion  to  wring 
from  her  her  consent  to  a  divorce. 

He  told  himself  a  hundred  times  a  day  that  her  un- 
natural marriage,  whatever  her  relations  with  her  hus- 
band, was  unholy,  impossible,  the  worthiest  object  for 
the  charity  of  the  law.  He  told  himself  that  her  mental 
and  moral  development,  to  say  nothing  of  his  own  joy, 
depended  on  her  marriage  with  him.  Already  she  was 
the  wife  of  his  spirit.  That  she  should  be  his  wife  be- 
fore the  world  was  a  duty  owed  to  society,  sadly  in  need 
of  married  lovers. 

He  sometimes  pictured  her  in  their  future  home. 
"We  two  shall  live  at  once  one  life,  and  peace  shall  be 
with  us." 

He  should  train  her  intellect.  That  she  had  the  clear, 
logical  mind  of  a  man  under  all  her  femininity  was  a 
source  of  constant  joy  to  him.  Unlike  many  highly  edu- 
cated men,  the  domestic  woman— domestic  and  nothing 
else— did  not  appeal  to  him.  A  wife  who  could  dress 
charmingly,  and  at  the  same  time  read  Greek,  was  his 
ideal. 

He  saw  her  receiving  in  his  house,  entertaining  his 
guests ;  again  in  sweet  domestic  attitudes  reading  to  him, 

470 


THE    CRUCIFIX 

tending  flowers,  sitting  at  his  feet  with  her  dear,  dark 
head  upon  his  knees. 

Across  these  visions  fell  the  shadow  of  the  necessary, 
perhaps  brutal,  battle  for  her  consent  to  the  divorce. 

A  week  had  passed  since  the  publication  of  his  article. 
Press  of  work,  desire  to  starve  her  into  compliance  with 
his  wishes,  had  kept  him  away  from  her. 

He  sat  in  the  office,  reading  proof  impatiently,  be- 
cause he  had  gained  his  own  consent  to  go  to  her  that 
afternoon.  He  laid  it  down  at  last,  becoming  conscious 
of  the  Emperor 's  fixed  gaze  upon  his  face. 

''Well!"  he  said  with  some  impatience.  "Have  you 
penetrated  to  the  secrets  of  my  soul ! ' ' 

She  laughed. 

"The  discovery  wouldn't  be  worth  the  fatigue." 

He  laughed  too.  Laughter  had  long  ago  prevented 
a  romance  between  himself  and  the  Emperor. 

"You've  never  mentioned  the  Rebbor  article  to  me 
since  it  was  published,"  he  said. 

"You  are  already  gorged  with  adulation— gorged 
into  torpidity.  I  won't  help  to  damn  you  with  my  ap- 
proval." 

He  smiled  faintly. 

"You're  more  varieties  of  a  brick  than  any  woman  I 
ever  knew." 

■  ■  One  of  them  may  hit  your  head  some  time. ' ' 

"I  shouldn't  care.  The  world  would  be  rid  of  one 
more  sinner." 

"Well,  whatever  you  do,  play  a  square  game,"  she 
said. 

He  blinked,  as  if  a  brick  had  already  struck  him  be- 
tween the  eyes. 

471 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

"You'll  finish  this  proof  for  me,"  he  said  quietly. 
1 '  I  have  a  call  to  make  this  afternoon. ' ' 

"No,  I'll  not  finish  it!  You've  overworked  me  till 
I  'm  a  subject  for  the  S.  P.  C.  A.  Take  me  calling  with 
you,  I'm  in  need  of  social  refreshment." 

He  smiled. 

"Well,  come  along,  if  you  want  to." 

'  cMay  I  ask  your  goal  ? ' ' 

He  looked  her  in  the  eyes. 

"Mrs.  Maturin's." 

Mrs.  Maturin  and  Perceval  were  together  in  her 
drawing-room.  She  was  seated  by  the  fireplace,  he  stand- 
ing near  her,  one  arm  resting  upon  the  carved  mantel. 
Her  face  was  pale,  passively  sad.  Active  suffering  was 
in  his. 

"You  have  made  your  final  decision?"  she  was  say- 
ing slowly.    ' '  You  are  leaving  Sparta  this  June  ? ' ' 

"Yes.  I  go  to  New  York  about  the  third  week." 

She  drew  a  long  breath. 

"May  I— is  it  impertinent  of  an  old  friend  to  ask 
why  you  give  up  St.  Jude  's  ? " 

"No,"  he  answered.  "You  may  ask  me— anything. 
It  is  because " 

He  hesitated,  then  looked  her  directly  in  the  eyes. 

"It  is  because— I  love  you." 

She  looked  down— was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"And  you  go  into  exile— for  me?" 

* '  There  is  no  other  way, ' '  he  said  in  a  low  voice.  ' '  I 
cannot  stay  here  and  face  you  and  hopelessness.  Unless 
you  tell  me  that  it  is  not  hopeless." 

472 


THE    CRUCIFIX 

She  looked  up  at  him,  wistfulness  in  her  face— re- 
flected light  of  her  love  for  another. 

"It  is  hopeless,"  she  said,  her  words  almost  inau- 
dible. 

1 '  Then  nothing  remains  for  me  but  to  say  farewell.  ■ ' 

He  held  out  his  hand. 

She  rose. 

"I  keep  your  friendship?"  she  said  pleadingly. 

He  was  silent. 

."I  cannot  lose  you  as  a  friend." 

"I  think— I  think  you  can  depend  on  my  friend- 
ship." 

They  faced  each  other  a  moment,  then  he  raised  her 
hand  to  his  lips. 

When  he  was  gone  she  walked  restlessly  about  the 
room,  going  first  to  one  window,  then  to  another.  His 
face  haunted  her  as  it  had  looked  at  her  out  of  his  lone- 
liness; a  loneliness  differing  in  kind,  her  instinct  told 
her,  from  that  of  a  mere  rejected  suitor.  Surrounding 
Perceval  like  an  atmosphere  was  the  strangeness  of  some 
extraordinary  experience  of  his  past  life,  which  known 
would  explain  the  anomaly  he  was;  priest,  man  of  the 
world,  skeptic,  believer;  and  above  all,  one  who  had 
drunk  the  cup  of  pain  to  its  dregs.  In  sending  him 
away,  she  knew  it  was  into  no  accessible  wilderness,  and 
her  heart  bled  for  him;  but  she  was  of  those  lovers  for 
whom  death  but  confirms  enchantment.  Her  refusal  of 
Perceval  was  fore-ordained  in  her  acceptance  of  Mat- 
urin. 

For  many  reasons  she  wished  to  keep  his  friendship. 
She  had,  as  a  rule,  little  love  of  priests,  mistrusting 

473 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

their  hybrid  character,  and  believing  that  the  true  apos- 
tolic succession  is  through  the  lives  of  holy  men.  Per- 
ceval was  the  only  one  she  had  ever  known  who  seemed 
to  her  not  in  his  office,  but  in  his  personality,  to  offer 
access  to  the  spiritual  world. 

Her  musings  were  broken  in  upon  by  the  announce- 
ment of  two  callers. 

Waring  and  the  Emperor  entered.  She  had  per- 
versely accompanied  him  to  make  him  bear  the  full  pen- 
alties of  his  lie  to  her.  His  mask  of  courtesy  hid  a  re- 
sentful wonder  as  to  how  he  should  politely  rid  himself 
of  his  companion  when  this  call  was  over.  He  must  see 
Barbara  before  dinner. 

Mrs.  Maturin  greeted  him  with  her  accustomed  gra- 
ciousness.  She  had  read  his  article  with  regret  for  what 
seemed  to  her  wasted  enthusiasm,  not  unmingled  with 
an  admiration  of  the  young  man's  courage  which  she 
would  not  join  with  the  opposing  forces  in  calling  bra- 
vado. 

She  spoke  of  it  to  him  now  in  friendly  appreciation, 
but  he  shied  from  the  subject. 

The  Emperor  looked  amused.  She  knew  Waring  well 
enough  to  feel  the  ill-humor  under  his  somewhat  elabo- 
rate courtesies. 

Mrs.  Maturin,  hiding  her  own  preoccupation  success- 
fully, talked  of  one  matter  and  another,  until  the  usual 
University  topics  were  exhausted. 

The  Emperor  was  about  to  end  the  call,  thinking  her 
editor  had  been  punished  long  enough,  when  Mrs.  Joyce 
was  announced. 

The  little  lady's  attitude  toward  Barbara  and  War- 
ing had  been  of  late  not  active  charity  indeed,  but  at 

474 


THE    CRUCIFIX 

least  a  suspension  of  malice,  due  to  Perdita  's  influence — 
the  one  strong  balance-wheel  in  her  irresponsible  life. 

She  pounced  on  Waring  now  with  the  joy  of  one  who 
sees  another  outlet  for  pent-up  teasing. 

"How  do  you  do,  Sir  Lancelot!  Herbert  punished 
me  the  other  day  for  an  overdone  steak  by  reading  me 
the  whole  of  Rebbor 's  past  life  as  you  have  presented  it. 
As  a  biographer  I  think  you  'd  make  your  fortune. ' ' 

"Spare  me  Rebbor  and  all  his  works,"  Waring  said. 

"Mr.  Waring  has  fought  a  good  fight,"  Mrs.  Maturin 
interposed;  "but  I'm  afraid  John  Rebbor  has  come  to 
stay." 

1 '  Of  course,  you  saw  it  before  it  was  published, ' '  Mrs. 
Joyce  said,  turning  to  the  Emperor. 

"I  was  an  unwilling  godmother  to  it— yes." 

• '  Don 't  you  approve  ? " 

"Not  at  all." 

Mrs.  Joyce  laughed,  showing  her  sharp,  even  little 
teeth. 

' '  And  you  flew  in  the  face  of  a  lady,  Mr.  Waring  ? ' ' 

1 '  The  board  of  editors  is  not  divided  into  sexes. ' x 

"Well,  I  liked  it— to  be  honest.  I  hope  you  won't 
be  sent  to  Siberia." 

Waring  laughed. 

"I'm  not  of  so  much  importance." 

Mrs.  Maturin  turned  the  conversation.  He  looked 
grateful.  When  the  call  was  over  and  he  was  free  to 
go  to  Barbara,  he  found  that  she  was  out.  He  wondered 
how  much  the  Emperor  knew  or  suspected.  Was  she 
trying  to  baffle  him? 

During  the  past  week  Barbara  had  run  the  whole 
475 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

gamut  of  bewildered  emotion.  Beginning  at  the  height 
of  renunciation,  she  had  gradually  descended  by  steps 
of  pain  and  longing  to  the  simple,  elemental  need  of 
him.  She  was  almost  ready  to  do  anything  he  asked  of 
her. 

On  this  afternoon,  when  unknown  to  her  he  was  in- 
tending to  go  to  see  her,  her  misery  drove  her  at  last 
from  the  house.  She  walked  up  and  down  the  streets  of 
the  town,  making  some  errands  to  do  there.  She  had 
reached  the  stage  when  lonely  places  seemed  full  of  sin- 
ister menace  to  her.  Unless  he  was  with  her  she  was 
afraid  of  being  near  the  walls  of  the  ravines  or  near 
deep  water. 

She  walked  up  and  down  the  streets  of  the  town, 
now  gray  and  dank  and  forlorn  with  late,  dripping 
winter— found  herself  at  last  near  St.  Jude's. 

Its  open  doors  were  an  invitation  to  her  weariness. 
She  entered.  The  deep  twilight,  broken  with  rich,  mys- 
tic color  from  the  narrow  windows,  received  her  merci- 
fully. 

She  entered  a  pew,  and  sat  there  for  some  time  before 
she  became  aware  that  she  was  not  alone  in  the  church. 
Then  through  the  twilight  she  saw  the  kneeling  form  of 
a  man,  his  head  buried  in  his  hands,  his  body  tense, 
motionless. 

She  thought  it  was  Perceval,  but  she  was  not  quite 
sure.  The  moments  passed.  The  man  rose  at  last  and 
came  slowly  down  the  aisle  like  one  in  a  dream.  She  saw 
it  was  Perceval. 

She  rose  and  went  to  meet  him,  wondering  at  the 
pallor  of  his  face;  its  look  of  pain. 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  her. 
476 


THE    CRUCIFIX 

"How  are  you  to-day,  Mrs.  Tenfold?" 

The  obvious  conventional  reply  came  to  her  lips,  but 
she  could  not  utter  it. 

"Not  very  well?" 

"Tired,  I  think." 

He  nodded,  his  grave  eyes  looking  searchingly  into 
her  face. 

"Come  into  the  study,  and  have  a  cup  of  tea  before 
going  up  the  hill. l ' 

"Thank  you— I  will  come." 

She  followed  him  passively. 

When  they  reached  the  study  he  placed  an  armchair 
before  the  fire;  then  rang  and  ordered  tea. 

She  leaned  back  in  the  chair,  closing  her  eyes  for  a 
moment.  Because  he  too  suffered  she  longed  to  tell  of 
her  suffering. 

"Mrs.  Penfold,  I  am  afraid  you  are  not  happy." 

His  quiet  voice,  vibrant  with  sympathy,  released  her. 

"I  am  wretched!"  she  cried,  "and— and  I'm  not  like 
you,  I  can't  pray." 

He  was  silent,  knowing  his  attitude  in  the  church 
had  signified  not  prayer,  but  pain. 

"Were— you  ever— bewildered?" 

"Yes,"  he  said. 

"Did  you  ever  want  something  and— have  to  give 
it  up?" 

He  rose  and  went  to  the  window,  turning  his  face 
away.    He  did  not  answer  her. 

"Did  you  ever— sin?" 

He  turned  to  her  again. 

"Would  I  dare  to  be  speaking  to  you— this  way " 

he  said  quietly,  "if  I  had  not  known  both  sin  and  pain." 

477 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

"You  say  you've  sinned,  you've  suffered.  What  was 
the  outcome?" 

The  misery  in  her  eyes  challenged  him. 

He  reached  for  a  little  crucifix  of  wood  hanging  near 
his  desk.  He  handed  it  to  her.  Her  fingers  closed  over 
it  tightly. 

"I  cannot  speak  to  you,"  he  said,  "  in  the  language 
of  the  Church.  I  know  something— you  once  told  me 
something  of  your  early  education.  I  speak  to  you  in 
the  tongue  which  you— and  perhaps  I  know  best.  I 
speak  of  pain." 

"Yes,"  she  said  faintly. 

"But— but  it  has  a  meaning!" 

"You've  found  it?" 

"I  could  not  escape  it.  Whatever  you  are  going 
through  or  will  go  through  in  this  life,  whatever  you 
learn,  whatever  you  suffer— whatever  knowledge,  wis- 
dom," he  hesitated,  "love  comes  to  you,  you  will  know 
sooner  or  later  that  all  life  centres  there— all  roads  lead 
there— to  the  symbol  you  hold  in  your  hand— it  is  the 
price  paid  for  the  triumph  of  the  spirit  over  the  flesh, 
of  the  higher  over  the  lower,  of  the  social  over  the  indi- 
vidual, of  light  over  darkness." 

"It  is  hard,"  she  said  piteously. 

"It  is  death  itself." 

"I  want  life." 

"You  will  get  it." 

"I  may  get  life,"  she  said,  in  sudden,  fierce  chal- 
lenge; "what  you  call  life,  perhaps;  but  I  shall  not  be 
happy. ' ' 

"I  did  not  promise  you  happiness.  You  will  prob- 
ably be  very  miserable." 

478 


THE    CRUCIFIX 

,    "You  are!" 

"Yes." 

1 '  Yet  you  give  me  this ! ' ' 

She  raised  the  hand  which  held  the  crucifix. 

"Yes." 

The  hand  dropped.  She  leaned  over,  gazing  into  the 
fire. 

When  the  tea  was  brought  he  poured  out  a  cup  for 
her  and  took  it  to  her.    She  shook  her  head. 

"You  must  drink  it,"  he  said,  with  quiet  authority. 

She  took  the  cup  from  him.  Her  left  hand  still  held 
the  crucifix  rigidly. 

He  stood  by  the  fireplace  while  she  drank  her  tea, 
talking  to  her  on  indifferent  subjects.  When  she  had 
finished  she  rose— calmer. 

"I  must  go,"  she  said.  "You  have  been  very  kind 
to  me.    I  may  not  do  as  you  say,  but  I  thank  you." 

He  smiled. 

"You  will  win." 

She  hurried  through  the  twilight,  still  clasping  the 
little  crucifix.  The  words  Perceval  had  spoken  aroused 
in  her  only  deeper  revolt;  but  this  symbol  of  pain  she 
could  at  least  understand,  whatever  mystical  interpreta- 
tion he  put  on  it. 

She  did  not  at  once  go  toward  the  University,  but 
walked  quickly  along  the  almost  deserted  side  streets. 
The  day  had  closed  in  a  dank,  dripping  fog  which  rolled 
in  from  the  lake,  covering  the  town  in  a  gray  mantle 
Through  it  lights  shone  faintly,  objects  loomed  large  and 
shapeless. 

It  was  the  hour  of  the  day  when  her  need  of  Waring 
31  479 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

was  keenest.  Morning  brought  its  duties,  night  its 
finalities;  but  at  twilight  the  world  went  home,  and  she 
was  homeless. 

Could  she  resist  his  plea? 

The  publication  of  his  article  on  Rebbor  a  fortnight 
after  her  appeal  to  him  not  to  publish  it  had  shown  her, 
as  many  other  things  had  shown  her,  that  in  the  final 
struggle  the  strength  of  his  will  was  to  be  counted  upon 
as  a  dread  factor. 

The  course  of  events  was  weakening  her  power  of  re- 
sistance. With  the  intuition  of  love  she  was  aware  of  the 
condemnation  visited  upon  him  for  his  reckless  attack 
upon  the  new  trustee.  Partly  from  what  her  husband 
had  told  her,  partly  from  what  others  had  betrayed  to 
her  in  chance  conversations,  she  knew  that  in  the  Fac- 
ulty at  least  he  stood  alone.  His  possible  peril  was  call- 
ing her  to  him  with  the  strongest  of  all  appeals— to 
stand  by  the  beloved  when  others  turned  away,  critical 
or  hostile. 

But  how  go  to  him  f    Must  she  face  divorce ! 

"Barbara!" 

The  voice  was  the  Emperor's.  She  had  emerged 
from  the  mist,  suddenly,  mysteriously,  so  it  seemed  to 
Barbara,  taken  by 'surprise. 

"I  did  not  see  you  coming !" 

"Probably  not.  Your  eyes  saw  nothing  nearer  than 
the  lake." 

"Are  you  going  up  the  hill?" 

' '  Yes.  I  've  been  to  the  hospital  to  arrange  for  Eliza- 
beth 's  going  there  to-morrow ! ' ' 

"She's  ill!" 

"She's  run  down— has  had  one  cold  after  another. 
480 


THE    CRUCIFIX 

I've  been  trying  to  persuade  her  to  give  up  for  several 
days.  This  afternoon  when  I  came  back  from  calling 
on  Mrs.  Maturin  I  found  her  with  fever.  I  didn't  ask 
her  permission.  I  went  straight  to  the  hospital.  There 
at  least  she'll  have  to  keep  quiet." 

"Poor  little  girl,"  Barbara  said  softly,  but  it  did  not 
seem  to  the  Emperor  as  if  she  quite  grasped  the  fact. 

She  took  no  notice  of  what  Barbara  held  in  her 
hand.  They  went  up  the  hill  together  almost  in  silence. 
When  they  parted  Barbara  said: 

"Let  me  know  if  I  can  do  anything,"  but  her  voice 
was  perfunctory,  abstracted. 


481 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

HUSBAND  AND  WIFE. 

She  had  come  to  the  stage  when  she  could  think 
calmly  of  a  divorce  and  of  the  steps  which  should  have 
to  be  taken  to  obtain  it.  This  calmness  was  negative,  a 
refuge  from  pain  by  the  diversion  of  her  thoughts  to  a 
new  course  of  action.  Two  nights  after  her  first  visit 
to  Perceval  she  met  Waring  at  a  dinner.  His  changed 
appearance  frightened  her.  He  looked  thin,  worn, 
anxious.  They  had  opportunity  for  only  a  few  conven- 
tional words  together  until  the  moment  of  leave-taking, 
then,  standing  a  little  apart  from  the  others,  he  said  to 
her: 

"I  must  see  you  alone.  You  must  tell  me  what  I 
want  to  know. ' ' 

His  manner  toward  her  had  lost  all  chivalrous  aroma, 
but  its  well-nigh  brutal  directness  told  her  of  heart- 
breaking sincerities. 

She  went  home,  resolved  to  speak  with  frankness  to 
her  husband;  to  tell  him  that,  loving  Waring,  and  not 
himself,  she  desired  to  take  the  clean,  straight  course- 
to  be  divorced  from  him  and  marry  his  friend. 

But,  pausing  before  his  study  door,  her  courage 
failed  her,  and  she  turned  away,  going  to  her  own  room. 
A  simple  incident  had  haunted  her  for  days,  his  grati- 
tude on  the  night  when  she  had  made  him  a  hot  drink  to 
ward  off  a  chill.    She  remembered  how  he  had  looked  up 

482 


HUSBAND   AND    WIFE 

at  her  with  a  kind  of  childlike  trust  and  confidence— 
hers  to  destroy  now  with  one  word. 

She  wished  that  he  was  a  jealous  husband,  demand- 
ing from  her  the  full  obligations  of  her  wifehood.  From 
an  exacting  man,  from  one  in  love  with  her,  it  would 
have  been  easier  to  separate.  The  very  freedom  she  en- 
joyed appealed  to  her  sense  of  protection  and,  years 
younger  though  she  was,  to  her  maternal  instinct. 

He  had  told  her  once  that  never  again  should  she 
go  through  the  pain  and  peril  of  child-bearing,  unless  by 
her  own  will  and  wish.  His  very  bewilderments  that 
strange  first  year  of  marriage  in  the  contemplation  of  a 
natural  but  disturbing  fact  seemed  to  awaken  in  him  the 
desire  not  only  to  protect  her  but  to  shield  the  sanctity 
of  his  scholarship  from  such  marital  distractions.  No 
wife  could  have  greater  freedom— a  freedom,  indeed,  of 
absolute  girlhood.  But  this  very  liberty  bound  her  hand 
and  foot. 

She  went  into  her  room  and  sat  down  on  the  edge  of 
her  bed.  From  beneath  the  pillow  something  protruded. 
It  was  the  crucifix.  She  took  it,  held  it  at  arm's  length, 
looked  at  it  curiously,  then  put  it  down  with  a  gesture 
almost  of  contempt.  How  easy,  she  thought,  to  die  phys- 
ically upon  a  cross  of  wood.  Had  this  Man  ever  loved? 
— ever  renounced? 

Yet  the  image  made  its  appeal  to  her  by  its  look  of 
very  helplessness— something  for  which  the  world  had 
been  too  strong.  Baffled  and  conquered  this  Man  had 
been,  whatever  the  Gospels  proclaimed  of  Easter  tri- 
umph. With  miracles  she  had  nothing  to  do.  They  were 
not  worked  for  a  modern  generation.  But  the  cross,  at 
least,  was  a  fact.    He  did  suffer  on  it,  and  He  did  die. 

483 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

So  much  was  history  in  the  reign  of  Tiberius  Caesar, 
Pontius  Pilate  being  Governor  of  Judea  and  Herod 
Tetrarch  of  Galilee. 

Why  liad  He  died?  Her  uncle's  explanation  of  this 
fact  which  had  changed  the  course  of  history  lay  in  its 
political  significance;  Jewish  resentment  not  of  king- 
ship because  it  was  contrary  to  the  law  of  the  empire, 
but  of  kingship  because  it  was  spiritual,  therefore  to  be 
betrayed  into  the  hands  of  the  oppressor.  She  thought 
of  the  day  when  he  had  said  these  things  to  her,  a  sum- 
mer day,  with  dear  garden  odors  drifting  in  through  the 
open  windows;  he  seated  at  his  desk,  she  perched  on  a 
window-seat  hemming  towels.  What  a  gulf  between  that 
child  and  the  woman  of  the  present ! 

Why  had  Christ  died?  Could  He  have  escaped  had 
He  wished  ?  Did  He  see  the  toils  closing  in  about  Him ; 
did  He  feel  life  becoming  more  difficult,  the  way  harder 
to  tread?  Why  did  He  submit?  Why  did  He  die? 
From  what  she  had  read  of  the  Gospels  it  seemed  that 
He  might  have  escaped  had  He  wished.  Was  this  help- 
lessness after  all  voluntary? 

She  picked  up  the  crucifix  again,  gazed  at  it,  laid  it 
down  with  a  sigh.  He  was  dead,  dead  centuries  ago. 
She  could  ask  him  nothing. 

How  should  she  tell  Amos  Penfold  to  what  lengths 
she  wished  to  go  to  straighten  out  her  life  ? 

The  thought  came  to  her  that  if  she  told  him  the 
situation,  the  bare  fact  that  she  loved  Waring,  he  might 
come  to  her  aid  with  the  solution.  Ruskin  had  given  his 
wife  in  that  way  to  Millais. 

But  would  the  solution  of  divorce  occur  to  this  child- 
like scholar?     And  even  if  it  did,  would  not  his  whole 

484 


HUSBAND    AND    WIFE 

life  be  wrenched  violently  out  of  its  peaceful  course  by 
the  shock  of  the  revelation?  If  only  he  had  not  been 
kind  to  her !  She  wished  that  he  had  beaten  her,  abused 
her. 

She  fancied  herself  gone  from  him.  Would  he  go 
back  to  his  learning  as  to  a  physician  capable  of  healing 
all  wounds,  if  wounds  there  were,  or  would  he  be 
troubled,  bewildered,  as  he  had  been  at  the  sight  of  her 
physical  sufferings;  too  bewildered  ever  again  to  work 
in  the  old,  calm  way  ? 

Yet  Waring 's  worn  face  called  her.  Their  love, 
whether  they  yielded  to  its  imperious  demand  or  not,  had 
become  a  fact  of  life,  one  with  the  shining  of  the  sun  and 
the  falling  of  the  rain,  elemental,  eternal. 

Such  love  was  sacramental.  Her  husband  must  re- 
lease her. 

She  rose,  and  went  again  to  the  study  door,  this  time 
tapping  with  a  firm  hand;  but  his  gentle  "Come  in'* 
again  robbed  her  of  her  courage. 

The  scene  before  her  was  most  peaceful  in  its  sug- 
gestions of  a  scholar's  quiet  toil.  The  room  was  in  deep 
shadow  save  where  the  student-lamp  shed  its  circle  of 
mellow  light.  In  this  circle  her  husband  sat,  his  mas- 
sive head  bent  over  some  papers.  Absolute  quiet  reigned. 

"Amos,"  she  said,  her  voice  trembling,  "may  I  talk 
with  you  a  little?     Are  you  very  busy?" 

He  looked  up,  saw  her  standing  there  in  the  outer 
twilight,  with  an  expression  in  her  face  that  at  once  com- 
pelled his  attention.  His  mind  went  by  a  curious  sug- 
gestion back  to  an -August  day,  a  stifling  noon,  a  dark- 
ened room,  her  eyes  gazing  up  at  his  in  strange,  incom- 
prehensible anguish. 

485 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

1 '  Are  you  busy  ? • '  she  repeated. 

"Not  too  busy  to  talk  to  you,  my  dear.  You  don't 
look  well— have  you  been  well?  March  is  a  hard  month." 

He  rose  and  brought  a  chair  for  her ;  as  she  sank  into 
it  his  hand  by  accident  touched  hers. 

"Why,  your  hands  are  cold— almost  as  cold  as  mine 
were  that  night  I  thought  I  was  in  for  it.  Let  me  get 
you  some  of  the  Amontillado. ' ' 

* '  No,  no,  it  is  too  precious,  and  it  is  nearly  all 
gone ! ' ' 

"It  is  not  too  precious  for  Barbara,"  he  said,  smiling. 

She  watched  him  as  he  took  the  flask  from  a  cabinet 
and  poured  out  a  tiny  glassful,  bringing  it  to  her  with 
a  solicitous  air. 

"Were  you  dining  out  to-night?"  he  asked,  seeing 
that  she  was  in  evening-dress.  "I  didn't  go  down  to 
dinner.    Mehitabel  brought  me  a  bite  up  here." 

1 '  Yes, ' '  she  said,  ' '  I  was  dining  out. ' ' 

Her  courage  was  ebbing  away,  and  even  the  warmth 
of  the  Amontillado  stealing  through  her  veins  could 
not  restore  it.    She  sat  miserably  silent. 

"What  is  it,  my  dear?  What  did  you  come  to  tell 
me?" 

She  looked  at  him  fixedly  for  a  moment. 

"Amos,"  she  said,  her  voice  uncertain,  "did  you— 
did  you  ever  regret  marrying  me?" 

He  gazed  at  her  in  amazement. 

1 '  My  dear,  what  a  question ! ' r 

"Do  I— do  I  mean  anything  to  you?  Could  you — 
live  as  well— without  me?" 

1  *  Why,  Barbara,  you  're  not  happy,  child.  What  has 
happened?" 

486 


HUSBAND    AND    WIFE 

Terror  seized  her.  She  began  to  tremble  in  every 
limb.    He  saw  it. 

"My  dear,  you  are  ill!"  he  said,  hastily  rising  and 
coming  toward  her. 

"Oh,  no,  not  ill.  Tell  me  if  I  mean  anything  to 
you— if  I'm  necessary  to  you— couldn't  you  work  better 
if  you  were  all  alone  again?  What  am  I  here?— what 
am  I!" 

He  stood  for  a  moment  in  utter  bewilderment,  then 
he  said : 

' '  You  know  what  you  are, '  Barbara.  Child,  don 't 
tremble  so.  Has  any  one  hurt  you— has  any  one  said 
to  you  that  you're  neglected?"  He  sighed.  "My  dear, 
you  should  understand  me  better  than  that." 

"No  one  has  said  anything,"  she  murmured.  "But 
if  I  meant  anything  to  you— I  might— I  might " 

"You  might  what ?" 

"I  don't  know— live— die— I  don't  know!" 

His  bewilderment  deepened;  conscience  reproached 
him.  After  all  she  was  left  very  much  to  herself.  Had 
any  one  been  saying  things  to  her? 

"Barbara,  listen.  I'm  not  a  model  husband,  but  my 
absorption  does  not  mean  that  I  forget  you;  only  that 
the  habit  of  continual  work,  once  acquired,  is  harder  to 
break  than  the  morphine  habit.  I  've  the  vice  of  scholar- 
ship.   No  one  knows  it  better  than  I,  but "  he  added, 

with  sudden  whimsical  worldliness,  which  sounded  oddly 
from  his  lips,  "you  might  be  married  to  a  man  who 
drank,  or  who— forgive  me— left  you  for  other  women." 

His  last  words  stung  her. 

"Do  you  believe,"  she  said,  "that  a  man  should  be 
487 


THE    LAW   OF   LIFE 

as  faithful  to  his  wife— as— as— a  wife  should  be  to  her 
husband?" 

He  pondered. 

"Well,  my  dear,  it  is  a  beautiful  theory,  but  you 
must  not  judge  too  strictly  in  this  world.  Man  is  a 
polygamous  animal.' ' 

She  drew  a  short,  sharp  breath.  Would  Richard  for- 
get her  at  last— go  on  to  other  women? 

"Then  a  thing  is  never  black  or  white." 

"Yes— to  youth." 

"And  to  age— to  experience?" 

1 '  Infinite  gradations  of  gray. ' ' 

"I  don't  want  it  so,"  she  said  desperately,  feeling 
another  prop  being  taken  from  her.  "I  don't  like  a 
world  where  everything  can  be  excused,  because  it's 
neither  quite  black  nor  quite  white. ' ' 

Her  husband  mused. 

"Well,  I  suppose  one  learns  charity  by  such  recog- 
nition. If  we  went  around  looking  for  saints  or  sinners 
we'd  run  into  blunders." 

1 '  Perceval 's  a  saint ! ' ' 

1 '  Yes,  I  guess  he  is. ' ' 

She  was  wondering  if  she  should  bring  this  theory 
of  charity  home  to  him  by  a  narration  of  her  difficulty 
how  he  would  act.  The  words  struggled  to  her  lips- 
died  there. 

His  face,  patient,  kindly,  concerned,  stood  between 
her  and  her  goal. 

"Amos,  you  began  to  tell  me  about  yourself— as— 
as— a  husband.    Tell  me  what  I  mean  to  you?" 

He  gazed  at  her,  the  abstraction  gone  from  his  face. 

"You  mean— my  home." 
488 


HUSBAND   AND    WIFE 

She  was  not  prepared  for  that  word.  Resentment 
of  it  filled  her. 

' '  I  don 't  quite  understand, ' '  she  faltered. 

"I  haven't  gifts  of  language,  Barbara;  but  until  I 
married  you  I  really  had  no  home.  Mehitabel  took  good 
care  of  me,  yes,  but  I  was  often  lonely.  You  have  taken 
away  that  sense  of  loneliness." 

She  said  nothing,  bowed  under  the  realization  that 
she  could  no  more  speak  to  him  of  divorce  than  she 
could  fly. 

"But  don't  worry  over  what  you  mean  to  me,"  he 
went  on  with  kindly  accent;  "and  remember  that  you 
are  not  really  neglected;  because,  even  if  you  are  not 
always  in  my  thoughts,  you  are  always  in  my  heart." 

It  was  a  good  deal  for  him  to  say,  and  it  left  him 
embarrassed.  He  bent  over  his  papers,  a  slow  flush 
mounting  to  his  forehead. 

She  rose. 

"Thank  you,  Amos— perhaps— some  day " 

She  hesitated. 

"Are  you  going  to  bed,  my  dear1?" 

"Yes;  it  is  almost  midnight." 

After  she  had  gone  he  plunged  again  into  his  work, 
but  from  time  to  time  her  face  came  between  him  and 
the  paper.  When  the  University  clock  was  striking  two 
he  rose  to  go  to  his  room,  feeling  that  his  restlessness 
made  further  work  that  night  unprofitable.  Her  door 
was  open,  and,  as  he  passed  it,  he  felt  impelled  to  go  in, 
to  see  if  she  were  sleeping. 

He  went  back  for  the  student-lamp;  then  stepped 
489 


THE    LAW   OF   LIFE 

quietly  to  her  bedside,  holding  his  hand  before  the  light 
that  it  might  not  reach  her  face. 

She  was  lying  in  a  childlike  attitude  on  her  side,  one 
hand  under  her  cheek.  The  other  lay  outside  the  cover- 
let, the  loose  sleeve  of  her  nightgown  thrown  back,  re- 
vealing the  white,  rounded  arm. 

Something  dark  was  in  this  hand.  He  bent  lower, 
holding  the  lamp  a  little  nearer.  Then  he  saw  it  was  a 
crucifix. 

He  softly  placed  the  lamp  upon  the  table  and  seated 
himself  where  he  could  see  her  face.  The  presence  of 
the  image  in  her  hand  he  at  once  connected  with  her 
strange  questions.  Where  had  she  obtained  it,  and  why 
did  she  hold  it  in  that  tight  grasp  ?  He  had  never  known 
a  woman  freer  from  superstition.    Was  she  so  unhappy  ? 

He  felt  concerned,  anxious.  His  steady  gaze  upon 
her  face  at  last  produced  the  usual  result.  She  moved 
uneasily,  opened  her  eyes,  then  started  up  in  bed,  say- 
ing: 

"What  is  it?    Am  I  ill?" 

"No,  dear.  I  was  watching  your  sleep.  I  am  sorry 
I  woke  you— I  was  afraid— you  were  not  happy." 

She  sank  back  again  on  the  pillow  with  a  long,  shud- 
dering sigh. 

"Tell  me,  if  you  can,  what  is  the  matter ?"  he  said 
anxiously. 

"No!    No!    No!" 

"Can  you  not  tell  me?" 

"If  I  did  I  should  be  sorry  in  the  morning,"  she 
said,  in  a  voice  old  with  its  finality. 

1 '  Shall  I  stay  with  you— sit  by  you  here  until  you  get 
to  sleep?" 

490 


HUSBAND   AND   WIFE 

She  looked  at  him  steadily,  then  gave  him  her  free 
hand.    He  took  it  and  she  turned  away  her  head. 

But  after  a  while  he  fell  asleep  in  his  chair.  Her 
own  vigil  lasted  until  morning.  She  watched  him  sleep, 
still  grasping  his  hand  as  tightly  as  in  the  other  she 
grasped  the  crucifix. 


491 


CHAPTER  L. 

•    THE  CRISIS. 

Four  days  passed.  In  that  time  she  did  not  see 
Waring.  From  her  husband  she  learned  that  he  was 
absent  at  a  neighboring  college,  where  he  was  lecturing 
on  some  political  topics. 

The  Emperor  came  with  the  news  that  Elizabeth  had 
pneumonia,  was  indeed  very  ill.  Barbara  heard  it  with 
a  strange,  apathetic  indifference.  Bodily  illness  seemed 
such  a  little  thing. 

The  morning  mail  of  the  fifth  day  brought  her  two 
notes.  One  was  from  the  Emperor,  hastily  scribbled  in 
lead-pencil  on  the  hospital  paper. 

"Elizabeth's  condition  is  serious,"  it  ran;  "the 
crisis  is  looked  for  to-morrow  or  next  day.  She  wants 
to  see  you.  I've  wired  her  people  in  California  to 
come  on." 

The  other  was  from  Waring. 

"Barbara,  I  must  see  you  quite  alone,  where  we  can 
talk  freely.  I  come  down  on  the  Lake  Local  to-morrow — 
will  get  off  at  Heustons  and  walk  to  the  boat-landing. 
Be  there  at  three.  If  it  is  mild  we  can  go  on  the  lake, 
if  not  we  can  walk  into  the  country.  I  must  have  your 
word.    Richard." 

She  sat  for  a  long  time  gazing  at  this  note,  feeling 
the  power  of  his  will  under  the  terse  sentences,  with 
their  ring  of  command.     She  knew  that  she  would  go. 

492 


THE    CRISIS 

She  must  go,  she  said  to  herself,  to  tell  him  that  she 
could  not  give  him  her  word.  She  could  not  be  divorced 
from  her  husband.  Beyond  that  telling  she  would  not 
look. 

She  read  and  reread  the  words  until  they  were  fixed 
in  her  mind,  then  she  put  the  note  in  the  fire. 

The  Emperor's  letter  filled  her  with  confused  regret, 
from  which  one  fact  stood  out  clearly,  that  she  was 
averse  to  going  to  Elizabeth.  She  told  herself  that  she 
would  go  to-morrow,  not  to-day,  or  perhaps  after  she 
had  seen  Waring— not  before.  She  dreaded  she  knew 
not  what  emotional  influence  which  the  sight  of  suffer- 
ing might  exercise  upon  her,  and  she  wished  to  be  held 
firm  to  her  purpose. 

During  the  morning  she  went  to  the  florist,  bought 
there  bride-roses  and  forget-me-nots,  and  sent  them  to 
Elizabeth,  with  a  card  to  the  Emperor  on  which  she 
wrote : 

"I  cannot  come  until  evening— it  is  impossible." 

At  half -past  two  that  afternoon  she  stood  before  her 
mirror  making  ready  for  her  departure.  She  wore  the 
darkest,  plainest  clothes  she  possessed,  and  was  now 
tying  a  thick  veil  across  her  face. 

She  knew  she  would  go,  yet  at  this  last  moment  she 
hesitated,  nervously  picking  up  and  putting  down  again 
the  little  toilet  things  on  her  bureau.  She  looked  for 
some  intervention  outside  her  own  will. 

On  the  stairs  she  met  Mehitabel  with  a  note  from  the 
Emperor. 

1 'Come  at  once.  They  do  not  think  Elizabeth  can 
live  through  the  night." 

She  stood  irresolute,  read  the  aote  again,  looked  at 
493 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

her  watch.  It  was  twenty-five  minutes  to  three.  Even 
if  she  made  close  connections  with  the  lake  trolley  she 
would  be  late. 

"I  can't  go  to  her.  I'm  not  fit  to  go  to  her,"  she 
thought;  then  with  the  quick  knife  of  a  desperate  will 
she  killed  the  tenderness  that  with  feeble,  clinging, 
dying  hands  was  overmastering  her.  Turning  to  Me- 
hitabel  she  said: 

"Miss  King  is  very  ill.  I  may  go  to  the  hospital 
about  dinner  time— may  stay  late— tell  Dr.  Penfold." 

She  heard  the  trolley  coming  and  hastened  out  to 
hail  it.  On  the  way  to  the  town  she  sat  rigidly  in  her 
seat,  her  lips  compressed.  When  she  changed  cars  she 
hurried  across  the  street,  looking  straight  ahead  of  her 
lest  she  should  see  some  one  she  knew. 

Only  two  persons  beside  herself  were  in  the  lake 
trolley,  and  these  left  the  car  before  it  was  out  of  the 
town.    Then  she  breathed  more  freely. 

And  now  it  flew  through  the  meadows  brown  and 
sodden  with  departing  winter.  The  bare  boughs  of  the 
willows  were  lifted  against  a  white  sky  from  which  a 
dull,  steady  wind  was  blowing.  In  the  distance  the  great 
lake  unrolled  steely  waters,  touched  here  and  there  with 
white.  If  they  could  but  go  down  together  breast  to 
breast  into  its  merciful  depths! 

The  flash  of  the  high  fall  in  the  farther  ravine  was 
seen  for  an  instant  as  the  car  crossed  a  bridge.  Now  the 
hills  drew  nearer,  the  lake  seemed  to  rise,  to  expand. 
From  the  end  of  the  car-line  to  the  boat-landing  was  a 
walk  of  three  minutes  along  a  stretch  of  graveled  beach 
upon  which  little  waves  broke  fretfully.  Beyond  this 
bay  the  uneasy  waters  of  the  lake  moved  to  the  dull, 

494 


THE    CRISIS 

steady  wind.     Toward  the  horizon  line  the  white  sky 
deepened  into  gray. 

He  came  to  meet  her,  pale  and  enveloped  in  silence. 
In  silence  they  took  each  other's  hands. 

The  old  fisherman  who  rented  the  boats  was  bending 
over  one,  adjusting  its  oars  and  cushions.  Once  he  cast 
an  anxious  glance  over  the  water. 

"It's  goin'  to  be  dirty  weather,"  he  said.  "I  ain't 
advisin'  you  to  stop  out  longer  than  necessary,  Mr. 
Waring.  It  don't  feel  cold  just  standin'  or  walkin', 
but  you  soon  get  numb  on  the  water.  Have  you  'nouf 
wraps,  Mrs.  Penfold?" 

Barbara  thanked  him.  She  was  warm  enough,  she 
said. 

"If  it  turns  cold  we  may  walk  back  from  Saunders's 
or  the  Point,  and  send  the  boat  by  a  boy,"  Waring 
said. 

"Very  good,  sir.  Or  if  you  make  it  Saunders  you 
can  leave  it  with  Michael." 

Waring  put  her  into  the  stern,  tucking  a  rug  about 
her.    Then  he  got  in  and  took  the  oars. 

"You  will  steer?" 

"Yes." 

They  pushed  off.  As  the  boat  cleared  the  end  of  the 
landing  he  said  in  a  low  voice : 

"We'd  better  not  attempt  to  talk  on  the  lake.  We'll 
land  somewhere— shall  it  be  the  Point?  It  is  quite  de- 
serted, but  there  is  shelter  there  should  it  rain— cot- 
tages. ' ' 

She  turned  away  her  head. 

"I  don't  care  where— only  take  me  out  of  sight  of 
Hallworth." 

32  495 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

In  the  room  where  Elizabeth  lay  the  hush  had  de- 
scended which  seems  the  palpable  expression  of  the 
resignation  or  despair  of  those  assembled  to  watch  the 
going  oat  of  life.  Beside  the  bed  Frederick  Clyde  sat, 
as  he  had  sat  for  hours,  motionless,  seeing  nothing  but 
her  face.  The  physician  and  nurses  still  went  on  with 
their  ministrations,  but  in  the  spirit  of  duty,  not  hope. 

At  the  window  the  Emperor  sat,  her  grief  for  Eliz- 
abeth overshadowed  by  her  anxiety  for  Barbara.  Since 
receiving  her  message  she  had  been  oppressed  by  vague 
apprehensions.  Knowing  Barbara's  temperament,  al- 
ways delicately  responsive  to  sorrow  or  pain,  she  was 
sure  that  only  some  crisis  could  make  her  disregard  a 
dying  friend's  wish.  Her  second  urgent  appeal  was  less 
in  behalf  of  Elizabeth,  who  since  midnight  had  recog- 
nized none  of  them,  than  in  behalf  of  Barbara.  For 
some  days  she  had  faced  the  fear  of  her  imminent  peril. 

She  was  watching  for  her  now.  Nearly  an  hour  had 
passed  since  she  had  sent  the  note.  If  there  was  no 
answer  within  a  very  few  minutes  she  was  resolved  to  go 
herself  to  Dr.  Penf old's. 

Her  restlessness,  if  nothing  else,  demanded  it.  The 
vague  dread  possessing  her  made  further  waiting  im- 
possible. 

She  rose  at  last  and  went  to  one  of  the  nurses.  "I 
must  go  out  for  a  few  moments.    Is  the  end  very  near  ? ' ' 

1 '  She  is  dying,  but  the  end  may  not  come  for  several 
hours. ' ' 

The  Emperor  went  to  the  bed  and  bent  over  Eliza- 
beth, pressing  her  lips  an  instant  to  the  soft  brown  hair, 
matted  and  damp  with  the  dews  of  coming  death. 

In  the  hall  she  met  Perceval,  who  came  every  day  to 
496 


THE    CRISIS 

see  Elizabeth— one  of  his  parishioners.  During  these 
visits  certain  traits  of  the  Emperor  had  not  escaped  his 
notice— the  dog-like  fidelity  under  her  brusque  manner, 
the  exceeding  gentleness  of  her  ministrations  to  her 
friend,  her  challenging  honesty,  breaking  through  the 
surface  complexities  of  her  temperament  as  through 
iridescent  cobwebs.  She  had  won  his  liking  in  the  face 
of  certain  prejudices  against  her,  holding  him  he  knew 
not  why. 

"Is  she  better?" 

"There  was  a  change  for  the  worse  last  night.  She 
can  only  live  a  few  hours." 

"Poor  little  girl!" 

The  Emperor  turned  her  face  sharply  away. 

1 '  You  are  going  out  for  a  breath  of  air  % " 

"I  am  going  for  Mrs.  Penfold.  If  I  do  not  return 
very  soon,  can  you  stay  to  be— with  Frederick  should 
the— end  come  suddenly?" 

"I  will  stay  until  the  end." 

He  saw  the  apprehension  in  her  face.  For  which 
friend  was  it  1  Dimly  he  divined  that  it  was  not  for  the 
one  drifting  out  to  the  unknown  sea. 

When  she  reached  Dr.  Penfold 's  Mehitabel  told  her 
that  her  mistress  had  received  the  second  message  just 
as  she  was  leaving  the  house;  that  she  had  spoken  of 
going  to  the  hospital,  but  not  at  once. 

' '  Did  she  say  where  she  was  going  first  ?  ■ ' 

"No;  Miss  Dare,  she  didn't." 

The  Emperor  turned  away  with  a  heavy  heart.  Why 
should  Barbara  delay  going  to  a  death-bed,  if  there 
were  not  some  force  holding  her  back,  obsessing  her, 

497 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

robbing  her  of  her  very  soul  of  pity  f  That  force  could 
be  of  but  one  nature. 

On  the  campus  she  met  Perdita,  and  stopped  her 
abruptly. 

1 '  If  you  should  run  across  Mrs.  Penf old,  will  you  tell 
her  to  go  at  once  to  the  hospital?  Elizabeth's  end  is 
nearer  than  we  thought. ' ' 

?  *  Oh,  poor  little  girl !  \ '  Perdita  cried. 

The  Emperor  remembered  Perceval's  words — but  the 
dying  were  safe. 

"You'll  tell  Mrs.  Penfold?" 

"Why,  I  saw  her  take  the  lake  trolley  about  an  hour 
ago.  I  didn't  speak  with  her.  She  was  too  far  off,  and 
walking  fast." 

The  Emperor  nodded. 

"Can  nothing  be  done  for  that  poor  child?"  Perdita 
said  eagerly. 

"Nothing,  I'm  afraid.  You'll  pardon  me  for  hurry- 
ing on?" 

The  lake  trolley!  The  Emperor  did  not  leap  to  her 
conclusions.  There  would  be  time  enough  for  that  at 
the  boat-landing.  She  paused,  listened.  There  was  no 
sound  of  a  trolley  approaching.  Her  impatience  made 
waiting  impossible.  She  knew  a  short  cut  to  the  lake 
down  the  hills  on  the  other  side  of  the  ravine.  She 
would  take  that. 

It  had  begun  to  rain,  but  she  seemed  unconscious  of 
it  as  she  flew  down  the  steep,  rough  way  she  had  chosen. 
The  almost  precipitous  hill  suddenly  ended  at  a  road 
which  led  directly  to  the  lake.  Along  this  road  she  sped 
as  if  on  wings. 

498 


THE    CRISIS 

At  the  landing  she  found  Henry,  the  old  fisherman 
from  whom  Waring  had  hired  his  boat,  and  whom  she 
knew  well.  Remembering  that  she  must  protect  Barbara 
now  at  every  step,  she  said,  with  confident  assumption : 

' '  Mrs.  Penf  old  went  out  on  the  lake,  didn  't  she ! ' ' 

"Yes,  ma'am,  her  and  Professor  Waring— more 'n 
half  an  hour  ago. ' ' 

"That's  a  great  pity,"  she  said,  knitting  her  brows. 
"I'm  afraid  I  shan't  find  her  now,  and  the  case  is 
urgent,  Henry!  Her  friend  and  mine,  Miss  King,  is 
dying." 

"Now  you  don't  say  so !  Not  that  nice  little  girl  with 
the  blue  eyes?" 

"Tell  me,  were  they  coming  back  by  water?" 

"Professor  Waring,  he  said  they  might  walk  back,  ef 
it  got  colder.  Twaren't  a  good  day  for  the  lake,  but  it 
seems  like  the  'varsity  people  go  on  it  most  any  weather. 
I  've  lived  here  all  my  life,  and  before  the  'varsity 's  time 
no  one  but  a  lunatic  or  a  fisherman  would  'a  gone  on  it 
in  winter— let  alone  March." 

She  interrupted  his  garrulity. 

"Well,  I  must  find  her.  I  can't  wait  till  they  come 
back.  I  think  I  can  overtake  them  somewhere  by  land 
or  water.  It's  a  very  urgent  case.  •  Get  me  a  boat 
ready. ' ' 

"You're  not  going  out  in  this  dirty  weather,  Miss 
Dare!    There's  a  heavy  swell  on— and  rainin',  too." 

"Did  you  ever  know  me  to  stop  for  weather?  Get 
me  a  boat  at  once.  I  tell  you  it's  a  matter  of  life  and 
death." 

He  obeyed  her,  having  learned  by  experience  that 
she  meant  what  she  said. 

499 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

1 '  Shan 't  I  row  you,  Miss  ?    I  '11  not  feel  easy. '  * 

"Don't  worry  about  me.  I  wasn't  born  to  be 
drowned. ' ' 

He  rapped  with  his  gnarled  knuckles  on  the  wood 
of  the  boat's  edge. 

"'Taint  well  to  boast,"  he  said,  in  a  curt,  anxious 
voice. 

"Did  they  say  where  they  might  land  if  it  turned 
colder?" 

' '  Saunders 's  or  the  Point. ' ' 

The  Emperor  resolved  to  steer  for  the  Point,  as  the 
lonelier  place.  She  smiled  reassuringly  at  Henry,  as  he 
pushed  the  boat  from  the  landing.  The  lake  challenged 
her,  offering  a  hostile  breast.  She  turned  her  head  to 
get  the  direction  of  the  Point,  now  almost  hidden  by 
mist  and  rain. 

The  gray  sweep  of  waters  seemed  ready  to  envelop 
her.  The  double  strain  of  the  past  week,  anxiety  for 
Elizabeth,  anxiety  for  Barbara,  had  begun  to  tell  on  her 
nerves,  as  she  suddenly  realized  now,  looking  toward 
Henry's  receding  figure.  She  wished  that  she  had 
brought  him— no— he  might  not  be  trustworthy  in  a 
crisis  like  this.  The  thought  of  possible  peril  to  the 
woman  she  loved  nerved  her  for  this  dangerous  row 
across  the  lake.  Putting  up  an  incoherent  prayer,  she 
bent  with  renewed  vigor  to  her  oars. 

Meanwhile  Barbara  and  Waring  had  reached  their 
goal.  During  the  row  across  the  lake  they  had  spoken 
little,  he  plying  the  oars  with  absorbed  energy,  she  sit- 
ting motionless  in  the  stern,  her  heavy  eyes  fixed  on  the 
distant  hills,  her  fingers  tense  on   the  rudder  string. 

500 


THE    CRISIS 

More  than  once  a  nervous  motion  of  her  hand  swerved 
the  boat  from  its  course. 

The  damp  wind  loosened  her  hair,  brought  a  faint 
color  to  her  cheeks.  His  face  was  white  as  the  flecks  of 
foam  on  the  gray  water ;  his  brow  was  knit,  his  lips  com- 
pressed ;  but  when  he  looked  at  her  his  eyes  softened. 

At  last  the  Point  loomed  up  before  them,  a  long,  nar- 
row cape  fringed  with  forest-trees  growing  close  to  a 
strip  of  sandy  beach.  It  ran  back  to  a  natural  terrace 
of  rock,  on  which  a  number  of  rustic  summer  cottages 
stood,  gay  little  dwellings  in  their  proper  season,  but  for- 
lorn enough  now  with  their  dark  background  of  dripping, 
leafless  trees.  Profound  silence  reigned  on  this  deserted 
shore,  broken  only  by  the  soughing  of  the  wind,  the  dull 
splash  of  leaden  waves  against  the  rocks.  The  mist  was 
not  heavy  enough  to  shut  in  near  perspectives,  but  in 
the  distance  the  towers  of  Hallworth  were  obscured. 

1  ■  You  see  you  have  your  wish, ' '  Waring  said,  with  a 
faint  smile,  pointing  toward  them,  as  he  drew  the  boat 
up  on  the  beach. 

She  nodded. 

He  gave  her  his  hand.  As  she  stepped  out  he  saw 
her  shiver. 

"Dear,  are  you  cold?" 

"A  little.    It  doesn't  matter." 

"It  does  matter,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "Most  of 
those  cottages  have  fireplaces  or  stoves ;  and  very  few  of 
them,  if  I  remember,  have  locks  on  the  windows.  I'll 
build  a  fire." 

"  No !  no !    I  must  stay  out  of  doors, ' '  she  cried. 

"In  this  wind  and  rain,  and  you're  wet  through 
now ! ' ' 

501 


THE    LAW   OF   LIFE 

"I  never  take  cold.  I  can  talk  to  you  under  these 
trees— I— I— have  not  much  to  say/' 

He  turned  from  her  abruptly,  his  lips  set. 

4 'I '11  be  back  in  a  moment,"  he  said. 

She  seated  herself  on  a  log  underneath  a  tree  and 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

In  that  attitude  he  found  her  when  he  returned.  He 
touched  her  gently  on  the  shoulder. 

"Come  with  me,  Barbara." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  searching,  apprehensive 
gaze. 

"Where?" 

"To  one  of  these  cottages.  I  have  a  fire  already  in 
the  stove." 

"I  can't  go  indoors." 

"You're  shivering  now.  I  cannot  let  you  kill  your- 
self." 

He  put  an  arm  about  her  waist  and  raised  her  to  her 
feet;  then,  still  supporting  her,  led  her  along  the  path 
by  which  access  to  the  terrace  was  gained. 

The  cottage  into  which  he  had  forced  an  entrance 
was  a  little  frame  affair,  sparsely  furnished.  Its  door 
now  stood  hospitably  open. 

On  the  porch  she  drew  herself  from  him. 

"Richard,  I  can't  go  in." 

"Dear,  be  reasonable.  You  must  get  rid  of  this  chill 
before  we  start  back.  Your  teeth  are  chattering.  Bar- 
bara, for  my  sake!" 

She  turned  and  entered. 

The  little  room  boasted  a  stove  in  which  a  fire  was 
crackling,  a  center-table,  a  divan,  and  some  cheap  chairs. 
Colored  pictures  from  Christmas  numbers  of  the  lllus- 

502 


THE    CRISIS 

tratcd  London  News  and  the  Graphic  were  pinned 
against  the  walls.  Before  the  windows  hung  curtains  of 
red  chintz. 

She  looked  about  the  place,  then  at  him.  He  came 
toward  her,  and  with  gentle  hands  loosened  the  fur  at 
her  throat,  and  began  to  unbutton  her  ulster.  She  gave 
herself  up  to  his  ministrations.  A  trance  of  strange 
passivity  came  over  her  like  the  ceasing  of  pain  before 
death. 

He  took  her  hat  and  coat  and  fur  and  hung  them 
near  the  stove,  then  drew  a  chair  up  for  her  and  put  her 
in  it.  He  stood  for  an  instant  in  hesitation,  then  knelt 
beside  her,  drawing  her  into  his  arms.  For  the  ghost 
of  a  moment  she  resisted. 

"Barbara!" 

"Yes,  Richard,"  she  whispered. 

"Give  me  your  word  now  that  you  will  be  my 
wife." 

"No;  I— cannot." 

"You— must." 

"I  cannot." 

He  was  silent.  He  withdrew  his  arms,  rose  to  his 
feet  and  stood  looking  down  upon  her.  Meeting  his 
eyes,  she  rose  too.  For  a  fateful  instant  they  hesitated, 
then  overwhelming,  overmastering  longing  swept  them 
toward  each  other.  He  strained  her  to  his  breast ;  their 
lips  met  in  a  long  kiss. 

She  sank  into  the  chair  again,  the  terrible  paralysis 
of  yielding  creeping  over  her,  creeping  through  her  veins 
like  a  sweet  and  deadly  drug.  He  knelt  beside  her,  and 
again  their  lips  met.  Her  head  rested  on  his  shoulder, 
her  mouth  was  against  his  throat. 

503 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

Silence  reigned.  After  a  little  the  winter  chill  of  the 
room  crept  from  its  corners. 

"Barbara,"  he  said  in  the  lowest  voice,  as  if  not  to 
disturb  a  sleeper.  "I  am  going  for  more  wood.  I  shall 
only  be  a  minute." 

She  nodded. 

A  door  in  the  back  of  the  room  led  to  the  kitchen. 
As  he  reached  it  he  turned.  She  looked  at  him,  and 
his  eyes  gazing  at  her  did  not  seem  like  the  eyes  of 
Richard. 

A  draught  swung  the  door  to  with  a  heavy  crash. 
She  sprang  to  her  feet  like  one  suddenly  awakened. 
Horror  seized  her,  horror  of  herself,  terrible  fear  of  him., 
In  another  instant  he  would  be  back.  If  she  were  there 
when  he  returned— what?— damnation  for  both. 

She  knew  that  if  she  saw  him  again,  came  again 
under  the  spell  of  his  presence,  she  could  not  resist  this 
paralysis  of  the  will,  and  in  blind  horror  of  the  sin  to  be, 
she  fled  from  the  room  to  the  porch. 

Which  direction? 

Toward  Hallworth— toward  Hallworth! 

She  plunged  into  the  dripping  wood,  running  along 
like  a  hunted  thing,  her  loosened  hair  about  her  shoul- 
ders, her  face  white,  agonized.  On  and  on  she  ran,  some- 
times stumbling  over  roots  and  fallen  logs,  once  tearing 
her  flesh  on  a  long,  thorny  branch  which  clutched  at  her 
from  some  thicket. 

She  thought  she  heard  his  voice  calling  her  name  in 
anguish  of  appeal. 

"Barbara!    Barbara!" 

And  the  sound,  real  or  imaginary,  terrified  her, 
spurred  her  on.     At  last  in  sheer  exhaustion  she  stum- 

504 


THE    CRISIS       v 

bled,  sank  down,  where  a  rock  protruded  between  two 
gnarled  trees. 

A  cleft  in  it  offered  a  hiding-place  until  she  could 
get  her  breath.  She  crouched  against  the  bowlder, 
trembling.  The  great  boughs  of  the  pine-tree  above 
her  rocked  against  the  sky,  the  wind  screaming  through 
them  like  a  creature  in  blind  pain.  The  clouds,  storm- 
driven,  seemed  about  to  descend  and  mingle  with  the 
waves  of  the  lake.  To  her  excited  fancy  "Waring 's  voice 
came  with  every  gust  of  the  wind  through  the  winter 
forest ;  with  every  cry  of  the  restless  water,  now  nearer, 
now  further,  but  always  in  anguish. 

"Barbara!  Barbara!"  and  again  "Barbara!"  as  if 
a  soul  and  body  parted  in  the  uttering  of  that  word. 

She  was  so  near  the  lake  that  the  spray  from  the 
waves  was  sometimes  blown  into  her  face.  Her  limbs 
soon  became  stiff  and  cramped,  but  she  had  no  desire  to 
rise  and  go.  Another  kind  of  paralysis  was  stealing 
over  her,  like  the  approach  of  death. 

A  hush  fell  upon  her.  His  voice  had  died  away  at 
last. 

Then  she  became  conscious  that  some  one  was  coming 
through  the  woods  toward  her  with  a  short,  quick  step 
that  was  not  Waring 's.  At  first  she  held  her  breath  in 
fear;  then,  as  she  became  more  sure  that  the  footsteps 
were  those  of  a  woman,  she  peered  out  timidly.  Coming 
toward  her  was  the  Emperor,  with  the  air  of  one  bent 
upon  some  search.  She  looked  about  her  at  every  step, 
and  once  she  stopped  and  listened.  Her  pale  face 
seemed  lit  with  some  strange  ardor  of  purpose. 

As  she  drew  near,  Barbara  rose  to  her  feet,  tried  to 
go  forward  to  meet  her,  swayed  and  put  out  her  arms. 

505 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

The  Emperor  sprang  forward,  caught  her  to  her  breast, 
supported  her  with  her  strong  hold.  For  a  moment  sky, 
trees,  lake,  swam  about  her  in  one  confused  gray  mist, 
then  she  became  conscious  of  dark  eyes  drawing  her  back 
to  physical  balance  with  their  deep,  quiet  gaze. 

' '  Steady,  Barbara.    You  're  all  right  now ! ' ' 

■ ' Don *t  leave  me !  don 't  leave  me!" 

' '  I  've  no  intention  of  leaving  you.  I  've  a  boat  at  the 
Point.    Can  you  walk  back  there?" 

"Oh,  not  to  the  Point !" 

She  drew  back  from  the  Emperor's  arms. 

"Not  to  the  Point!"  she  repeated  wildly.  "I'm 
afraid. ' ' 

Again  the  physical  weakness  overcame  her.  She 
swayed,  and  again  the  Emperor  took  her  in  her  strong 
grasp,  held  her  to  her  breast.  She  looked  out  over  the 
water,  and  then  down  at  the  tragic  face. 

"Can  you  wait  here  while  I  bring  the  boat  'round? 
There's* a  bit  of  beach  just  below.  I  could  take  you  in 
there." 

1 '  No,  no ! "  Barbara  said.  ' '  Don 't  leave  me  alone.  I 
must  go  with  you." 

"Then  it  will  have  to  be  to  the  Point." 

Barbara  looked  up  at  her  appealingly,  the  truth 
wrenched  from  her  lips. 

"I  can't  meet— him.    I— I  ran  away." 

- '  I  know  you  did, ' '  the  Emperor  said  quietly. 

"How  did  you  know?" 

"I  reached  the  Point  just  as  you  came  out  on  the 
cottage  porch.  I  saw  you  run  into  the  woods.  I  made 
my  boat  fast  and  followed  you,  but  I  was  a  minute  or 
two  behind.    The  trail  was  clear  for  a  while,  but  once 

506 


THE    CRISIS 

or  twice  I  got  off  the  track,  or  I  should  have  found  you 
sooner. ' ' 

"Helena!" 

"Dear!" 

"Why  did  you  come  to  the  Point?" 

"For  you." 

Barbara  said  nothing,  bowed  down  with  misery  and 
shame.  The  Emperor  kept  an  arm  about  her  waist,  and 
together  they  made  their  slow  way  to  the  Point.  At 
every  step  Barbara  glanced  about  her  fearfully.  The 
woods  seemed  haunted  with  grinning  demons. 

The  Emperor's  boat  was  not  at  that  side  of  the  cape 
on  which  Waring  had  landed.  To  Barbara  it  seemed  an 
eternity  while  the  boat  was  being  untied,  the  oars  made 
ready. 

"You're  not  afraid?" 

"Afraid  of  what?" 

' '  The  lake.  It  looks  nasty,  but  it 's  a  steady  wind,  no 
chopping.    We'll  fly  back." 

"I  don't  care— only  let  us  be  off,"  she  entreated. 

The  Emperor  drew  Barbara's  loosened  hair  into 
place,  then  wrapped  her  own  cloak  about  her. 

"You'll  need  it,"  Barbara  said. 

"Not  rowing." 

"My  things— are  in  the  cottage." 

Soon  they  were  out  on  the  water.  The  mist  had 
lifted,  and  in  the  distance  the  University  buildings  rose 
against  the  sky. 

1 '  Steer,  please, ' '  said  the  Emperor. 

"Toward  the  lighthouse?" 

"No;  that's  too  small  to  keep  the  direction.  Steer 
toward  the  towers  of  Hallworth." 

507 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

At  the  boat-landing  Henry  came  out  to  meet  them. 

' '  I  overtook  Mrs.  Penf old, ' '  the  Emperor  said.  ' '  We 
are  both  drenched.  Could  your  wife  make  us  a  cup  of 
tea— and  Henry— wait!  'Phone  for  a  carriage  to  take 
us  to  the  hospital." 

The  old  man  nodded.  If  the  peculiar  circumstances 
of  the  case  aroused  his  curiosity  he  made  no  sign.  His 
wife  gave  them  hearty  welcome  to  the  little  frame  house 
near  the  landing,  chirping  over  them,  and  bustling  about 
to  get  them  tea.  The  Emperor,  bending  over  Barbara, 
chafed  her  hands.  When  the  tea  was  brought  her  she 
drank  it  obediently.    She  seemed  dazed. 

Henry  came  in  to  say  that  the  carriage  was  there. 
His  wife  followed  him  out  again,  and  for  a  moment  the 
two  women  were  left  alone. 

"Come,  Barbara!" 

"Where?"  she  whispered. 

"  To  the  hospital— to  Elizabeth ! "      , 

A  look  almost  of  terror  crossed  Barbara's  face. 

' '  I  cannot  go  to  her !    She  is  pure !    She  is  good ! ' ' 

1 '  So  are  you, ' '  said  the  Emperor  curtly.    ' '  Come ! ' ' 

In  Elizabeth's  room  no  change  had  taken  place,  only 
the  hush  had  deepened.  Perceval  read  the  stately 
prayers  of  the  Church  with  that  ache  of  impotence  in  his 
heart  which  he  always  felt  in  his  ministrations  to  the 
dying.  He  now  sat  near  Frederick,  who  never  loosened 
his  hold  upon  Elizabeth's  hand  nor  took  his  eyes  from 
her  face. 

Perceval  wondered  why  Miss  Dare  did  not  return. 
Remembering  her  anxious  eyes,  he  thought  of  Barbara. 
Was  Mrs.  Penfold  in  actual  peril  these  days?    It  might 

508 


THE    CRISIS 

be  possible.  He  himself  had  wandered  too  much  through 
the  mazes  of  life  to  be  sure  of  any  one  save  the  saints 
safe  with  their  God. 

The  door  opened  and  the  Emperor  entered,  leading 
Barbara.  Both  women  looked  haggard.  Perceval  rose, 
came  forward  to  meet  them,  concern  in  his  face  for  Mrs. 
Penfold,  who  seemed  ready  to  faint  with  fatigue  or  the 
stress  of  some  emotion.  He  brought  her  a  chair,  and 
she  sank  into  it,  not  even  glancing  toward  the  bed. 

But  the  Emperor  went  softly  to  the  bedside  and 
looked  down  upon  her  friend.  A  white,  crushed  flower, 
seemed  less  helpless,  less  overthrown,  than  this  girl 
caught  in  the  toils  of  death.  Revolt  and  sorrow  strug- 
gled in  the  Emperor's  breast,  a  fierce  disdain  of  an 
order  of  things  in  which  such  tragedies  were  but  inci- 
dents. 

She  came  back  to  Barbara's  side. 

"She  would  not  know  you.     She  is  very  far  away." 

Barbara  made  no  answer.  She  sat  with  her  head 
bowed,  one  hand  over  her  eyes. 

The  silence  deepened.  The  Emperor  rose  at  last  and 
stepped  to  the  door.  There  she  beckoned  to  Perceval. 
He  followed  her  into  the  hallway. 

'  -  I  want  to  ask  you, ' '  she  said,  ' '  if  you  will  give  Mrs. 
Penfold  something  to  do  when  it  is  all  over.  She  needs 
now  very  much  something  to  occupy  her  mind— or  she 
will  be  ill— you  understand?" 

"I  understand.  I  had  thought  myself  of  asking  her 
to  take  care  of  Clyde,  to  look  after  Miss  King's  people 
when  they  arrive." 

"A  good  thing!" 

When  they  went  back  to  the  room  the  signs  were 
509 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

visible  that  the  change  had  taken  place.  Perceval  knelt 
and  said  a  prayer.  The  nurses  and  the  others  knelt  with 
him  except  Frederick  Clyde,  who  seemed  unaware  of 
what  was  going  on  around  him.  When  they  rose  Per- 
ceval went  directly  to  Barbara. 

"Mrs.  Penfold,"  he  said,  "I  want  you  to  take  Fred- 
erick home  with  you  and  make  him  eat  something.  The 
nurses  tell  me  he  has  touched  nothing  since  last  night. 
You  will  do  this?" 

A  shrinking  look  came  into  Barbara's  face. 

"Ought  I  to?"  she  said  brokenly. 

Perceval  took  no  notice. 

"Her  people  will  arrive  from  California  in  a  couple 
of  days.  Could  I  ask  you  to  help  us  in  looking  after 
them  a  little?" 

She  nodded,  turning  her  head  away. 

The  nurses  left  the  room,  and  Perceval  with  them. 
The  Emperor  was  leaning  over  Elizabeth,  gazing  at  her 
with  tearless  eyes,  murmuring  broken  baby- words  of  en- 
dearment, strange  from  her  lips. 

"And  she  left  her  to  seek  me!"  Barbara  thought. 

She  looked  at  Frederick  Clyde 's  bowed  figure.  From 
the  depths  of  her  abasement  she  cried  to  herself  that  she 
could  not  go  to  him,  speak  to  him;  that  she  was  not 
worthy. 

But  the  spell  of  obedience  which  the  Emperor  had 
placed  upon  her  made  her  yield  now  to  Perceval's  com- 
mand. She  rose,  and  going  to  the  young  man's  side 
touched  him  gently  on  the  shoulder. 

"Frederick,"  she  said  timidly,  "you  must  come  home 
with  me  and  rest. ' ' 

He  turned  his  dazed  eyes  to  her. 
510 


THE    CRISIS 

' '  I  can 't  leave  her, ' '  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"You'll  not  leave  her,"  Barbara  said  brokenly. 
"She's  yours  now— always." 

The  Emperor  frowned.  She  had  come  to  the  break- 
ing point. 

"Frederick,"  she  said  in  a  tone  of  authority,  "you 
must  go  with  Mrs.  Penf  old. ' ' 

He  shook  his  head. 

"You  can  come  back  again.  Go  now.  There's  a 
dear  fellow." 

He  rose. 

"I  have  no  wraps,"  Barbara  said  in  a  low  voice  to 
the  Emperor. 

"I've  kept  the  carriage  at  the  door." 

Soon  after  Barbara  and  Frederick  had  left,  a  pack- 
age was  brought  to  the  Emperor,  addressed  to  herself  in 
Waring 's  writing.  Opening  it  she  found  Barbara's 
hat  and  coat  and  fur.  Despite  her  sorrow  she  smiled 
grimly. 

The  house  when  Barbara  and  her  guest  entered  it 
seemed  silent  and  deserted.  Dr.  Penf  old's  study  door 
was  closed.  In  the  kitchen  Mehitabel  's  preparations  for 
a  late  dinner  were  in  evidence,  but  she  herself  was  out. 

Barbara,  doing  everything  as  in  a  dream,  fixed  a 
tray  daintily  for  Frederick  and  made  him  eat  and  drink. 
They  said  little  to  each  other,  absorbed  in  separate 
visions.  Hers  was  of  a  storm-beaten  shore,  a  wind-swept 
forest,  a  room  every  detail  of  which  she  would  remem- 
ber until  the  day  of  her  death. 

"When  he  had  finished  she  told  him  that  he  must  go 
and  rest.  Passive  and  obedient  now,  through  utter 
weariness,  he  followed  her  to  the  room  up-stairs.  She  lit 
33  511 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

the  fire  on  the  hearth,  saw  that  he  had  everything  for  his 
comfort,  then  left  him— to  face  herself. 

She  heard  Mehitabel  come  in,  but  had  not  the  courage 
to  go  down  and  speak  to  her.  She  feared  the  good 
woman's  shrewd  eyes.  Where  was  Waring?  Still  wan- 
dering over  the  hills?  Still  calling,  calling  through  the 
wind  and  rain?  How  black  the  lake  must  be!  What  a 
death-chill  in  the  cottage. 

She  thought  of  him  impassively,  drained  by  fatigue 
of  all  emotion.  She  turned  toward  the  study.  She  must 
go  to  her  husband;  must  tell  him  of  Elizabeth's  death, 
of  Frederick's  presence  in  the  house. 

She  knocked  softly  on  the  door.  At  his  response  she 
entered,  stood  there,  ghastly  in  the  lamp-light,  and  told 
her  tale. 

Gathering  astonishment  was  in  Dr.  Penf old's  face, 
but  it  was  from  nothing  that  she  said.  He  scarcely  heard 
what  she  said  in  his  wonder  at  her  looks. 

When  she  had  finished  he  rose,  came  toward  her. 

"Barbara,"  he  said  in  an  anxious  voice,  all  preoccu- 
pation gone  from  his  manner;  "Barbara,  my  child,  you 
look  very  ill." 

Then  it  was  that  the  flood-gates  of  her  soul  opened. 
With  a  cry  she  fell  at  his  feet,  weeping  hysterically  and 
begging  him  to  send  some  one  to  her,  that  she  must  have 
a  woman  at  her  side.  He  listened,  dazed,  distressed; 
then  lifted  her  in  his  arms  and  bore  her  to  the  couch. 

"Barbara,  don't  weep  so!  You  alarm  me.  This 
death  has  unstrung  you— what  is  it  you  say?  Yes— yes, 
I'll  send  for  any  one  you  want— shall  it  be  Miss  Dare?" 

"No;  she  has  never  been  married!"  Barbara  cried 
wildly.    "Send  for  Athena— Athena  Maturin." 

512 


THE    CRISIS 

He  thought  her  half-delirious,  and  went  in  all  haste 
to  send  Mehitabel  for  Mrs.  Maturin.  Then  he  came  back 
and  sat  by  Barbara's  side,  gazing  at  her  anxiously  and 
patting  her  hand  at  intervals. 

Her  sobs  finally  ceased.  She  lay  staring  at  the  ceiling 
with  wide,  strained  eyes. 

"You  shouldn't  have  watched  her  die— you're  too 
young." 

"I  watched  myself  die,"  she  said,  and  he  thought 
her  wandering  again. 

Mehitabel  returned  with  word  that  Mrs.  Maturin  was 
out  of  town. 

"Shall  I  send  for  any  one  else?"  her  husband  asked 
her. 

Barbara  shook  her  head. 

"It  would  be  no  use,"  she  murmured.  "No  one  can 
do  anything." 

Dr.  Penfold,  distressed  and  helpless,  resigned  her  to 
Mehitabel,  who  put  her  to  bed,  crooning  over  her  and 
saying  that  the  death  had  unstrung  her.  Through  all 
her  misery  Barbara  was  conscious  of  relief  that  she  could 
hide  her  bruised  spirit  behind  this  death. 


513 


CHAPTER   LI. 


Early  next  morning  she  awoke  with  a  confused  sense 
of  an  obligation,  a  charge  laid  upon  her  which  she  must 
fulfil.  Some  dim  battle  lay  back  of  her  dreams,  the 
events  of  which  she  could  not  at  first  .recall,  suspended 
between  sleeping  and  waking  in  the  dawn  twilight.  But 
the  haunting  responsibility  slowly  quickened  her  senses. 
She  remembered  Clyde. 

What  else  she  remembered  was  not  tolerable.  She 
rose  and  dressed  quickly,  though  it  was  not  yet  six. 

The  house  seemed  wrapped  in  profound  slumber. 
She  opened  a  window  and  looked  out  upon  the  campus, 
lying  peaceful,  silent  under  a  fresh,  fair  sky  that  toward 
the  east  was  rosy.  This  dawn  she  might  not  have  been 
alive  to  see. 

"I  should  have  drowned  myself,"  she  thought. 

The  suffocating  picture  of  the  cottage  blotted  out  the 
scene  before  her.    She  bowed  her  face  in  her  hands. 

A  lost  and  ruined  woman  she  thought  herself.  The 
flight  from  the  cottage  could  not  wipe  away  the  guilt  of 
going  there.  By  her  vacillation  she  had  made  it  easy 
for  him  to  have  his  will  with  her. 

But  even  in  the  hard  light  of  morning  she  could  not 
believe  he  had  taken  her  there  deliberately  resolved  upon 
their  mutual  ruin.  Her  very  passivity  had  borne  them 
both  away  upon  a  fearful  current.  She  remembered  his 
eyes  as  he  had  last  looked  upon  her.    That  was  not  Rich- 

514 


"AMONG   THE   INNUMERABLE   UNWILLING " 

ard!— but  was  this  transformed  creature  her  handiwork? 
In  her  bitterness  she  mocked  herself.  She  had  mis- 
taken egotism  for  spiritual  exaltation,  passion  for  ideal 
longings. 

Self-torment  at  last  reached  its  limits.  Unable  any 
longer  to  be  alone  with  her  thoughts,  she  rose  and  went 
down-stairs  to  the  kitchen.  Mehitabel  greeted  her  with 
an  astonished  look. 

"Why  ain't  you  in  your  bed,  Mis'  Penfold,"  she 
said,  knitting  her  brows  in  gruff  solicitude.  "The  Doc- 
tor told  me  expressly  to  keep  you  there.  Now  what '11 
he  say?" 

"Did  he  tell  you  that,  Mehitabel?"  Barbara  said, 
her  eyes  wistful. 

"He  did.  He  was  so  worried  about  you  he  couldn't 
work  last  night.  I  heard  him  walkin'  up  and  down  the 
study  ever  so  long.  T'aint  like  him— but  it's  true,"  she 
added  curtly. 

Barbara  went  to  the  kitchen  window,  and  stood  there 
looking  out  upon  the  garden,  her  face  averted  from 
Mehitabel.  She  had  but  a  confused  recollection  of  what 
she  had  said  and  done  the  evening  before.  Had  some 
word  escaped  her  lips,  now  in  her  husband's  heart  like 
a  grim  key  opening  a  dungeon  beneath  his  fair-appear- 
ing house? 

The  thought  was  intolerable,  yet  confession  might 
now  be  her  penalty,  and  separation  be  imposed,  not 
sought. 

The  acquiescence  of  despair  filled  her  with  a  certain 
calm.  She  would  think  no  further  than  this  day  and  its 
obligations.  She  and  Richard  were  parted  forever, 
whether  her  husband  cast  her  off  or  not.     With  avid 

515 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

hands  she  had  destroyed  a  beautiful  creation;  had  lost 
all  power  of  entering  upon  a  nobler  relation .  with  her 
friend. 

In  her  bewildered  state  the  faulty  logic  lying  back  of 
this  finality  escaped  her.  Like  all  idealists  the  love  of 
the  impossible,  running  in  her  veins  a  bitter-sweet  intoxi- 
cant, constantly  disturbed  her  judgment.  She  believed 
that  she  could  have  kept  her  friendship  with  Richard 
at  the  fair  height  where  it  began  if  she  had  been  a  great 
saint.  The  discovery  of  her  sinnerhood  was  absolute, 
crushing,  ideal  in  its  very  thoroughness. 

She  would  pay  the  price,  but  she  would  think  no 
further  than  this  day. 

She  told  Mehitabel  the  story  of  Elizabeth  and  Clyde 
in  a  way  to  awaken  the  good  woman's  sympathy,  and 
what  was  more  difficult— gain  her  willingness  to  be  of 
service  to  him  should  he  remain  for  a  few  days  under 
Dr.  Penf old's  roof. 

Her  desire  to  keep  him  was  in  its  essence  that  she 
should  have  some  duty  upon  which  to  fix  her  thoughts. 
Her  hysterical  outbreak  of  the  evening  before  had  fright- 
ened her;  warned  her  that  self-control  must  be  held. 
She  clutched  at  straws  to  hold  it. 

While  Mehitabel  was  preparing  Clyde's  breakfast  she 
went  to  her  husband's  room,  nerving  herself  to  face  his 
contempt  of  her,  his  reproaches,  his  silence  or  his  quiet 
condemnation.  She  believed  that  he  knew  now— or  sus- 
pected. 

But  she  found  him  still  sleeping,  his  hair  disordered 
as  if  by  much  tossing,  his  look  unquiet.  She  sat  down  by 
the  side  of  his  bed  and  watched  him  as  once  he  had 
watched  her;  dreading  lest  he  should  awaken,  yet  long- 

516 


"AMONG   THE   INNUMERABLE   UNWILLING" 

ing  for  him  to  open  his  eyes,  to  see  her  there,  to  end  her 
suspense. 

She  had  resolved  upon  her  course  of  action.  If  he 
knew  or  suspected  she  should  tell  him  the  whole  story 
from  the  hour  of  his  giving  her  into  Waring 's  keeping 
to  the  dread  menace  of  surrender  in  the  cottage.  She 
should  tell  him  and  abide  his  judgment.  If  he  did  not 
suspect  she  would  keep  her  story  to  herself— at  least 
until  the  choking  mist  about  her  cleared. 

The  purity  of  superlative  scholarship  seemed  his  as 
he  lay  there.  Looking  at  the  massive  brow  she  won- 
dered if  it  were  after  all  a  negative  purity,  the  state  of 
one  in  whom  all  the  vital  forces  had  gone  to  feed  the  in- 
satiable intellect.  But  she  put  the  thought  from  her 
with  self-reproach.  Who  was  she  that  she  should  judge 
the  pure  in  heart?  She,  abandoned  to  her  passion  in 
everything  but  act. 

Mehitabel  knocked  at  the  door;  handed  her  a  sealed 
envelope.  * 

"Mr.  Waring  left  this,"  she  whispered.  "He  in- 
quired particular  how  you  were.  Mr.  Clyde  is  up — 
wants  to  speak  to  you  when  convenient— I've  taken  his 
breakfast  to  him. ' ' 

Barbara  broke  the  seal. 

But  one  line  was  written  across  the  paper : 

"Send  me  some  word  of  yourself,  for  God's  sake!" 

She  put  it  again  in  the  envelope,  thrust  the  envelope 
into  the  waist  of  her  dress.  Yes,  she  would  write  to 
him— the  last  letter. 

Her  husband  stirred,  turned  for  a  moment  on  his 
side,  then  opened  his  eyes,  wide,  blue,  strangely  like  a 
child's  as  they  gazed  at  her  in  bewilderment. 

517 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

1 !  Why —Barbara !    Didn  't  you  go  to  bed ! ' ' 

"It  is  morning!"  she  said  softly. 

He  looked  at  her,  knitting  his  brows. 

"But  you  went  to  bed  ill— dear!" 

She  nodded,  unable  to  speak.  She  took  his  hand  in 
hers,  holding  it  tightly. 

"You're  better?" 

"Yes,  I  hope  so,"  she  said  faintly.  "I've  been  a 
trouble  to  you,  Amos." 

He  was  wide  awake  now.  He  remembered  every- 
thing; her  casting  herself  at  his  feet,  her  passionate 
weeping,  her  snatches  of  wild  speech.  He  remembered 
that  he  had  not  been  able  to  work  afterward;  that  he 
had  paced  his  study  until  a  late  hour,  unable  to  throw 
off  strange  fears,  haunting  accusations;  that  he  had 
quieted  himself  at 'last  by  a  resolve  to  beg  her  in  the 
morning  to  tell  him  what  was  troubling  her.  A  tender- 
ness deeper,  more  solicitous  than  he  had  ever  known  had 
been  awakened  toward  her  by  the  sight  of  her  suffering, 
and  blended  with  it  remorse  for  a  preoccupation  which 
might  have  blinded  him  to  some  need  of  hers. 

"Barbara,"  he  said,  "you  were  very  unhappy  last 
night.    Can  you  tell  me  why,  dear?" 

She  had  never  heard  him  speak  with  such  directness 
of  appeal ;  with  such  warmth  of  kindness.  Did  he  know  ? 
Was  this  mercy  ?  charity  ? 

1 '  Yes ;  I  was  unhappy, ' '  she  said  faintly. 

"And— and  you  are  still?" 

"Yes,"  fainter  yet. 

"Is  it— is  it  anything  you  can  tell  me?" 

His  eyes,  innocent,  solicitous,  gazed  into  hers.  She 
turned  her  head  away. 

518 


"AMONG   THE   INNUMERABLE  UNWILLING" 

1  'No,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice;  "you— you  wouldn't 
understand ! ' ' 

He  shrank  a  little,  as  if  she  had  struck  him.  Did  she 
think  him  quite  out  of  life  and  common  human  experi- 
ences I    Well !    It  would  be  small  wonder  if  she  did. 

"I  might  try,"  he  said,  with  a  deprecating  smile. 

It  was  becoming  evident  to  her  that  whatever  his 
concern  about  her,  it  was  fixed  on  no  definite  revelation. 
Her  purpose  of  silence  was  reinforced. 

"Can  any  one— ever  live  another's  life— settle  an- 
other's problems?"  she  said,  with  a  sudden  desire  to  take 
away  the  hurt  of  her  words. 

He  was  silent,  knowing  that  their  union  was  not  close 
enough  for  him  to  urge  the  identity  of  life  between  wife 
and  husband. 

"I  suppose  not— but,  Barbara,  you  could  trust  me, 
I  think— with— anything. ' ' 

"Not  with— sin?"  she  said  brokenly. 

"With  sin,"  he  repeated  in  vague  wonder.  "My  lit- 
tle girl,  what  do  you  know  of  sin?" 

In  the  face  of  his  misconception  of  her  she  was  silent. 
She  sat  holding  his  hands  tightly,  not  looking  at  him. 
She  felt  his  gaze  upon  her. 

"Barbara,"  he  said,  "whatever  is  troubling  you, 
don't  put  me  out  of  your  life  now.  I've  been  out  of  it, 
I  know,  dear.  I  could  not  break  the  habits  of  years,  and 
I've  left  you  very  much  to  yourself— but  don't  put  me 
away  now." 

His  gentle  appeal  was  unnerving  her  by  its  very 
vagueness. 

"I  want  to  come  into  your  life,"  she  said,  in  a  voice 
that  trembled;  "but  I  don't  know  the  way." 

519 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

He  was  silent. 

"Is  there  anything — anything  that  you  can  give  me 
to  do— any  papers  to  copy,  any  letters  to  write?" 

"Yes,  I  do  need  your  help,"  he  said,  lying  deliber- 
ately in  his  desire  to  take  that  aged  look  from  her 
eyes. 

"Very  well— I'll  begin  to-day— or— as  soon  as  this 
is  over  with  Elizabeth.  Frederick  is  in  the  house,  you 
know.  Would  it  interfere  with  you  in  any  way  if  I  kept 
him  for  a  few  days?" 

"Not  at  all,  my  dear.  I  like  the  boy.  Is  he  very 
much  broken  up?" 

"I  think  he  is.    He— he  loved  her." 

From  her  husband  she  went  to  Frederick,  who  was 
pacing  up  and  down  the  little  drawing-room  awaiting 
her  coming. 

"Mrs.  Penfold,  you've  been  too  good  to  me.  I  wanted 
to  see  you  to  tell  you  I  was  grateful  before  going  to " 

He  broke  off  abruptly,  holding  his  head  high  above 
waters  that  might  drown  him. 

1 '  You  must  come  back, ' '  she  said,  in  a  tone  that  held 
a  command.  "Dr.  Penfold  and  I  both  want  you  to  stay 
here  as  long  as  you  can— we  thought  it  might  be— easier 
for  you." 

"It  would  be  easier,"  he  said,  with  frank  directness. 
"The  fraternity  men  would  be  awfully  good  to  me— but 
I  don't  want  to  be  a  damper  there— or  here,"  he  added, 
with  a  faint  smile. 

"We  are— quiet  here,"  Barbara  said,  "and— not 
young. ' ' 

He  looked  at  her  wonderingly. 
520 


" AMONG   THE   INNUMERABLE   UNWILLING" 

"You  are  coming— soon— to  the  hospital,"  he  said, 
in  a  low  voice. 

"Yes— I  will  come,"  she  answered. 

"You  saw  her— before  the  delirium  came  on?" 

"No." 

"But— but  she  wanted  to  see  you." 

"Yes." 

He  looked  at  her  for  further  explanation.  She  gave 
none. 

The  day,  with  its  strange  duties,  wore  along.  She 
spent  most  of  it  at  the  hospital  with  the  Emperor,  giv- 
ing what  aid  she  could  in  the  arrangement  of  necessary 
details.  She  had  still  the  strange  impression  of  being 
in  a  dream,  from  which  some  voice  would  suddenly 
awaken  her.  Elizabeth,  beautiful  in  death;  Allaire, 
Button,  all  the  people  who  came  with  their  sympathy, 
their  proffers  of  help,  seemed  part  of  this  dream.  The 
dead  girl's  fellow  students,  the  members  of  her  frater- 
nity, her  friends  at  Stafford  Hall,  brought  offerings  of 
flowers;  spoke  of  her  in  whispers  in  the  corridors,  their 
heads  bowed  beneath  their  memories. 

Late  in  the  day  the  President  himself  came.  Eliza- 
beth had  been  a  brilliant  student.  He  had  known  her 
and  her  work  personally. 

He  stood  at  her  bedside,  looking  down  upon  her  with 
a  curious  grief  which  was  perhaps  the  only  outlet  pos- 
sible for  his  hidden,  protecting  pride  in  the  University 
under  his  charge.  A  man  singularly  devoid  of  senti- 
ment, the  death  of  a  student  always  touched  a  secret 
chord  in  his  nature;  profound  regret  for  a  young  life 
removed  from  the  very  center  of  vital  activities.    Alma 

521 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

Mater  cherished  her  children  at  a  beautiful  crisis  of 
their  lives— the  period  of  unfolding.  How  young  these 
children  were,  for  all  their  bravery  of  scholarship,  their 
intellectual  confidence,  their  proud  degrees,  the  Presi- 
dent knew  well.  He  begrudged  them  to  death  with  a 
more  than  paternal  jealousy.  Whether  they  passed  to 
final  extinction  or  to  worlds  where  the  pomp  of  learning 
faded  in  sempiternal  light,  their  going  forth  bereft  a 
greater  family  than  the  one  they  knew  through  ties  of 
blood. 

At  the  end  of  the  day  Barbara  went  home,  Clyde 
accompanying  her.  Elizabeth's  people  were  to  arrive  on 
the  morrow,  and  she  had  promised'the  Emperor  to  help 
in  looking  after  them.  The  dream  did  not  break.  That 
she  should  be  doing  all  these  things  seemed  to  her  con- 
fused sense  little  less  than  the  acts  of  one  raised  from 
the  dead;  but  her  soul  was  in  the  deep  grave  by  the 
lakeside. 

When  the  night  quiet  had  descended  upon  the  house 
she  went  to  her  room  to  write  to  Waring.  She  had  an- 
ticipated tearing  up  many  sheets  in  the  effort,  but  the 
direct  words  came  easily. 

"The  greatest  proof  you  can  give  me  now  of  your 
friendship  is  to  leave  Hallworth  at  the  end  of  this  term. 
I  have  not  changed  toward  you,  but  I  cannot  follow  the 
path  you  wish." 

She  signed  her  full  name,  sealed  and  addressed  the 
letter,  committing  herself  finally  to  the  arid  journey  of 
duty.  Perceval  was  right.  She  would  be  absolutely  mis- 
erable. But  would  she  gain  a  certain  peace?  She 
doubted  it.  The  crucifix,  lying  among  the  papers  of  her 
desk,  was  but  a  memorial  that  once  in  the  world's  his- 

522 


"AMONG   THE   INNUMERABLE  UN  WILLING' ' 

tory  a  man  had  gone  willingly  to  death.  She  was  her- 
self among  the  innumerable  unwilling,  sullenly  numb 
to  the  bliss  of  dying. 


523 


CHAPTER  Lit 

"a  hero's  role!" 

When  Waring  found  that  Barbara  had  left  the  cot- 
tage he  first  ran  frantically  to  the  place  where  the  boat 
was  moored,  fearing  that  in  some  paroxysm  of  fright 
or  revolt  she  had  fled  to  the  lake.  During  those  few 
moments  of  suspense  he  had  lived  an  eternity  of  remorse 
and  apprehension.  Was  murder  as  well  as  dishonor  to 
be  at  his  door  % 

To  his  infinite  relief  the  boat  was  still  there.  Mak- 
ing it  fast  with  a  knot  which  he  knew  she  could  not 
untie,  he  hurried  back  to  the  cottage,  hoping  that  she 
had  returned  under  stress  of  her  helplessness  on  that  de- 
serted shore.  But  she  was  not  in  the  cottage.  Where 
had  she  flown?    What  direction  had  she  taken? 

He  plunged  into  the  woods,  calling  her  name  in  a 
hoarse,  anguished  voice,  and  making  a  wide  circle  about 
the  group  of  cottages.  His  only  answer  was  the  moan- 
ing of  the  wind,  the  splash  of  the  waves  against  the 
rocky  terrace.  He  knew  why  she  had  fled— because 
all  his  honor,  all  his  chivalry  had  been  swept  away  in 
one  moment  by  desire.  That  she  fled  from  herself  as 
well  as  from  him,  his  acute  self-reproach  did  not  permit 
him  to  see. 

He  had  lost  her  forever!  Would  a  woman  of  Bar- 
bara's stamp  entrust  herself  for  life  to  a  man  with  whom 
she  could  not  safely  trust  herself  one  hour?  Her  appeals 
to  him  not  to  ask  her  to  go  into  the  house  rang  in  his  ears, 

524 


"A    HERO'S    ROLE!" 

maddened  him  now  into  a  frenzy  of  search.  He  imag- 
ined her  wandering  through  those  dripping  woods,  run- 
ning, perhaps,  in  very  fear  of  him.  That  Barbara  should 
fear  him  was  to  him  exquisite  punishment. 

He  came  back  at  last  to  the  cottage.  Standing  on  the 
porch  irresolute  as  to  his  next  course  of  action,  he  saw 
out  on  the  lake  a  boat  with  two  figures  in  it— both 
women.  It  was  too  far  away  for  him  to  recognize  them, 
but  the  sight  filled  him  with  questioning  wonder.  Who 
could  they  be?  Why  were  they  on  the  lake  in  such 
weather?  Whoever  held  the  oars  was  skilful.  The  boat 
flew  along  headed  for  the  lighthouse.  Suddenly  a  new 
suspicion  sent  him  again  to  the  Point.  But  his  boat  was 
still  tossing  at  its  mooring.  Baffled,  miserable,  he 
plunged  again  into  the  woods,  calling  her  name  in  sharp 
entreaty,  looking  to  the  right,  to  the  left,  behind  every 
tree,  every  rock  that  might  afford  her  shelter. 

Twilight  was  coming  on  when  he  re-entered  the  cot- 
tage with  the  last  faint  hope  of  finding  her  there.  But 
his  voice,  his  footsteps,  awoke  only  echoes.  Taking  down 
her  wraps,  he  made  them  into  a  bundle,  and  covered 
them  with  his  overcoat. 

The  fire  in  the  stove  had  long  gone  out.  The  room 
was  desolate,  tawdry  and  deathly  chill.  Disgust  filled 
him  of  the  scene  with  which  he  had  become  shamefully 
identified.  He  had  been  a  brute— and,  what  was  worse, 
a  clumsy  one.  He  gave  a  vicious  kick  to  a  piece  of  wood 
lying  in  his  way  to  the  door.  The  door  he  made  fast  as 
he  had  found  it,  then,  taking  his  bundle,  climbed  out  the 
window,  painfully  conscious  that  the  drama  had  arrived 
at  a  dreary  and  ridiculous  stage,  and  that,  on  an  adja- 
cent Olympus,  the  gods  were  laughing. 

525 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

He  rowed  back  to  the  landing.  Henry  greeted  him 
laconically. 

"Thought  you  was  drowned." 

"It  was  a  good  day  for  it.  Did— the  boat  with  the 
two  ladies  arrive  safely?" 

"Sure.  Miss  Dare's  a  great  hand  with  the  oars— and 
Mis'  Penfold  she  don't  know  what  'tis  to  be  afraid." 

Waring  nodded.  Covert  reproach  seemed  in  Henry's 
words. 

The  mystery  of  the  other  boat  was  at  once  solved  and 
deepened.  Where  and  how  had  the  Emperor  found  Bar- 
bara? 

"Miss  Dare  seemed  terribly  anxious,"  Henry  went 
on.    "They  drove  straight  to  the  hospital." 

Anxious  about  whom?  Barbara  was  surely  not  ill 
enough  for  that!  But  he  did  not  dare  to  ask  questions 
lest  he  should  betray  himself.  At  least  he  knew  where 
he  could  send  the  wraps  without  compromising  their 
owner. 

He  walked  up  to  the  ex-President's  house  under 
cover  of  night,  taking  the  unfrequented  ways.  That  a 
woman  had  come  to  the  rescue,  had  carried  off  Barbara, 
was  the  last  humiliation.  Self-mockery  threw  a  banal 
light  over  the  event,  and  chiefly  on  him,  his  chivalry  in 
tatters.  He  reflected  bitterly  that  a  man  deliberately 
bent  upon  the  ruin  of  a  woman  was  more  honorable  than 
he.  Mordant  disgust  killed  for  a  time  even  passion.  The 
consciousness  of  being  a  fool  is  more  terrible  than  the 
consciousness  of  being  a  sinner. 

With  his  sinfulness  Waring  did  not  at  this  stage  con- 
cern himself.  That  he  should  love  Barbara,  should  want 
her  divorced,  was  no  evil ;  but  that  he  should  have  failed 

526 


"A    HERO'S    ROLE!" 

in  chivalry  toward  her  was  an  irreparable  disgrace.  She 
had  trusted  him  and  he  had  betrayed  her  trust.  He  had 
been  clumsy,  had  played  the  fool's  part— only  to  lose 
her! 

Had  he  lost  her  irretrievably?  He  reflected  that  if 
he  had  been  wiser,  had  walked  with  her  where  it  was  not 
lonely,  where  she  had  nothing  to  fear  from  him,  had 
talked  with  her  in  a  quiet,  reasonable  way,  he  might  now 
have  her  promise  of  a  divorce.  Once  that  promise  given, 
he  knew  she  would  keep  it. 

Well,  he  might  yet  have  it.  The  most  strait-laced 
could  scarcely  oppose  the  dissolution  of  such  a  union, 
barren  on  both  the  spiritual  and  physical  planes.  The 
most  strait-laced,  yes!  But  he  might  have  to  meet  now 
not  only  her  opposition  on  the  ground  of  its  being  wrong, 
but— thought  unbearable— her  contempt  of  him,  -her 
shattered  ideal. 

He  spent  a  sleepless  night.  Early  next  morning  he 
wrote  one  line  to  her. 

Haggard  with  self-accusation  he  went  to  his  classes. 
He  had  as  a  rule  a  keen  delight  in  teaching;  but  to-day 
the  upturned  faces  of  these  boys  and  girls  seemed  as 
expressionless  as  so  many  pans  of  milk.  Would  they  all 
grow  up  to  be  fools? 

At  the  end  of  the  last  hour  the  Boy  of  Barbara's 
acquaintance  came  up  to  speak  to  him.  The  youngster's 
hero-worship  had  caused  Waring  some  amusement  dur- 
ing the  winter— kindly  amusement  over  a  state  of  mind 
which  he  perfectly  understood,  having  experienced  it 
himself.  This  morning,  however,  the  Boy's  deferential 
manner  filled  him  with  a  vague  irritation. 

"I  beg  pardon,  Mr.  Waring." 
34  527 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

"Yes?" 

The  rising  inflection  was  not  encouraging.  The  Boy 
hesitated,  then  plunged  ahead— stammering. 

"Are  you— are  you  going  to  favor  us— this  after- 
noon?" 

"Favor  you— what  do  you  mean?" 

"Haven't  you  seen  the  announcements,  sir?" 

"What  announcements?  I  have  been  out  of  town, 
you  know." 

"Of  the  mass-meeting  this  afternoon  to  petition  the 
President  to  depose  Rebbor." 

Waring 's  astonishment  was  in  his  face,  but  in  a  mo- 
ment he  recollected  himself. 

"They  are  really  going  to  hold  one  this  afternoon? 
I  did  not  know  things  had  gone  so  far." 

The  Boy  looked  puzzled. 

"I  am  the  chairman  of  the  committee,  sir.  We  sent 
you  notice  three  days  ago;  also  an  invitation  to  address 
the  meeting." 

"It  is  probably  in  my  mail,"  Waring  said  coolly.  "I 
only  returned  late  yesterday.  I  have  not  had  an  oppor- 
tunity to  open  my  letters." 

"But  you  will  address  us,"  the  Boy  said  eagerly, 
adding  with  some  importance,  "I  think  we're  in  a  fair 
way  to  gain  our  end." 

He  was  searching  his  hero's  face  for  the  light  of 
sympathy,  but  Waring  looked  non-committal,  even  in- 
different. The  Boy  was  puzzled,  hurt.  He  had  expected 
the  students'  mass-meeting  to  be  great  news  to  this  man, 
who  had  been  fearless  enough  to  run  amuck  of  John 
Rebbor  and  his  millions.  His  manner  now  would  not 
indicate  withdrawal  from  this  enterprise— no,  he  was 
.    528 


"A    HERO'S    ROLE!" 

tired,  abstracted.  Perhaps  he  was  in  possession  of  of- 
ficial knowledge  which  revealed  grave  dangers  in  the 
path  of  enthusiasm.  Gallantly  the  Boy  fought  for  his 
hero.  Waring 's  face  during  the  lecture-hour  had  seemed 
strangely  worried— sad  with  the  sadness  of  some  defeat. 

"I  hope  you  can  find  it  convenient  to  come,"  he  said 
hastily.  "  You  are  our  leader  in  this  battle  for  the  honor 
of  Hallworth.    We  all  look  to  you." 

Waring  rose  with  a  gesture  almost  of  impatience. 

1 'My  dear  fellow,  I'm  afraid  it's  a  hopeless  one;  but 
I  think  I  can  arrange  to  come.  What  time  is  your  meet- 
ing?" 

"At  three." 

"I  shall  be  at  the  library  at  one,  working  in  the 
Greek  seminary,  I  can  let  you  know  then." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  the  Boy  said  with  enthusiasm. 

Waring  smiled,  giving  him  a  nod  of  dismissal. 

He  sat  for  a  long  time  in  the  empty  room,  revolving 
unpleasant  thoughts ;  face  to  face  with  the  fact  that  not  a 
small  element  in  his  bravado  against  Rebbor  was  the 
knowledge  that  to  win  Barbara  for  his  wife  meant  the 
inevitable  leaving  of  Hallworth,  the  final  abandonment 
of  a  University  which  with  all  his  criticism  of  her  he 
passionately  loved.  But  he  had  loved  Barbara  more. 
The  recklessness  of  his  emotion,  coloring  all  his  acts  that 
winter,  had  made  a  single-handed  battle  against  Hall- 
worth and  Rebbor,  for  the  glory  and  honor  of  Alma 
Mater,  seem  not  only  feasible  but  highly  desirable,  a 
deed  to  cover  him  with  chivalrous  glory. 

Up  against  this  new  aspect  of  a  hero's  role,  as  inter- 
preted by  the  Boy,  he  asked  himself  whether  this  gift 
to  the  University  was  after  all   an  unmitigated  evil? 

529 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

Had  he  judged  these  economic  questions  from  the  soph- 
omoric,  absolute  standpoint  ?  Could  such  standards  hold 
in  a  world  where  all  was  relative ! 

But  these  questions  were  but  sophistries— he  knew 
too  well— of  his  overwhelming  fear  that  he  should  im- 
peril his  position  at  Hallworth  and  be  driven  into  final 
exile  from  Barbara.  To  lose  her  and  the  University 
both  would  be  intolerable. 

What  should  he  do!  If  he  addressed  this  meeting, 
placed  himself  as  a  leader  of  callow  youth  against  the 
final  judgment  of  Alma  Mater,  the  result  was  inevitable. 
That  the  President  had  refrained  from  taking  official 
notice  of  the  article  in  College  and  State  was  owing, 
Waring  knew,  to  no  clemency  toward  himself,  but  from 
a  desire  to  hush  up  the  matter,  to  keep  it  as  far  as  pos- 
sible out  of  the  newspapers.  But  the  article  had  been  a 
firebrand  to  inflammable  and  unthinking  youth.  He, 
its  author,  was  now  threatened  by  the  conflagration, 
from  which  Rebbor  promised  to  emerge  like  the  phoenix, 
while  he  perished.  The  President  would  inevitably  re- 
quest his  resignation. 

On  the  other  hand  was  the  character  of  a— martyr! 
The  students'  hero-worship,  looking  out  from  the  frank 
eyes  of  the  Boy,  would  follow  him  for  an  hour  into  his 
exile.  But  his  all  night's  disgust  of  himself  had  not 
been  in  vain.  He  threw  off  in  bitter  impatience  the  idea 
of  a  hero 's  role. 

He  saw  his  course,  but  he  hedged. 

The  events  of  the  past  twenty-four  hours,  capped  by 
this  new  difficulty,  were  showing  him  how  hopelessly  en- 
tangled with  his  love  for  Barbara  all  his  motives  and 
actions   had  been.     Earlier  in   the  winter  his  protest 

530 


"A    HERO'S    ROLE!" 

against  the  corruption  of  Hall  worth  with  Rebbor's  mil- 
lions had  seemed  to  him  the  direct  outcome  of  certain 
principles  which  he  had  always  cherished— or  believed 
he  cherished.  Now  he  could  not  escape  the  knowledge 
that  this  protest  was  founded  less  on  his  convictions  than 
on  the  strength  of  a  prophetic  vision— himself  departing 
from  Hallworth,  a  martyr  to  principle— with  Barbara 
in  his  arms! 

Now  that  he  was  not  sure  that  she  should  be  his  ulti- 
mately, he  shrank  in  overmastering  dread  from  any  step 
which  might  further  imperil  his  position  at  the  Univer- 
sity. The  keen  blade  of  the  President's  will  made  clean 
cuts,  once  he  had  decided  upon  a  course  of  action.  That 
double  exile  he  could  not  face. 

From  his  freshman  year  his  devotion  to  Hallworth 
had  been  extraordinary,  even  considering  the  fact  that 
Hallworth  herself  was  a  university  to  inspire  a  high  de- 
votion in  the  breast  of  her  children.  Institutions,  like 
persons,  have  souls,  possessed  to  a  greater  or  less  degree 
of  magnetism.  Whether  from  her  ideals,  her  methods, 
her  setting  of  great  natural  beauty,  her  democratic  char- 
acter, or  from  all  these  elements  in  combination,  Hall- 
worth had  always  won  the  hearts  of  her  fledglings  while 
training  their  intellects.  The  sweetness  of  being  hers 
stole  into  the  veins  of  even  the  rawest  or  most  callous 
of  freshmen  by  the  time  he  had  reached  his  senior  year. 
He  might  criticise  her,  break  all  her  rules  within  his 
small  power,  laugh  at  the  grinds  who  choked  themselves 
with  her  intellectual  abundance;  but  he  went  from  her 
at  last  with  tears  in  his  heart  if  not  in  his  eyes.  Through 
the  press  and  struggle  of  the  after-years,  sordid  or  in- 
spiring; in  the  turmoil  of  the  cities,  on  the  prairies  of  the 

531 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

West,  in  every  part  of  the  New  World  or  the  Old,  he 
looked  back  to  her  with  what  was  perhaps  the  purest 
emotion  of  his  life.  Lake  and  valley,  hills  beyond  hills, 
the  beautiful  country  she  dominated  with  her  towers, 
seen  from  the  dusty  stretches  of  after-life  was  to  many 
of  her  children  the  only  country  they  should  ever  know 
from  which  the  light  of  enchantment  could  not  fade. 

All  this  Hall  worth  had  been  to  Waring— and  more. 
To  him  she  was  no  unsocial  entity.  Sentiment  aside,  he 
saw  her  play  a  great  part  in  the  life  of  the  country. 
His  passionate  desire  to  bring  her  closer  to  the  vital  po- 
litical interests  of  the  land,  resulting  in  his  foundation 
of  the  League  and  of  the  magazine,  had  been  born  in  his 
undergraduate  period.  To  get  back  to  her,  to  become  a 
part  of  her  Faculty,  was  the  ambition  which  had  light- 
ened his  struggles  in  New  York.  His  bravery  as  a  re- 
porter of  the  Spanish-American  War  was  a  leaf  for  her 
laurels.  His  great  desire  was  to  see  her  a  nursing  mother 
not  only  of  future  citizens  but  of  statesmen. 

The  woman  intervening,  these  ideals  had  been  thrust 
into  the  background.    Barbara  obscuring  Hallworth,  the' 
University  became  for  the  time  one  institution  more  or 
less  in  a  country  overrun  with  them. 

Now  he  knew  that  his  dread  of  leaving  the  place  was 
dread  of  leaving  her. 

Yet  he  was  in  honor  bound  to  carry  to  its  logical 
issues  an  enterprise  which  he  had  fathered,  and  which 
the  younger  sons  of  Hallworth  had  taken  up  with  em- 
barrassing enthusiasm.  In  honor  bound!  The  memory 
of  that  scene  in  the  cottage  clinched  the  course  which 
faced  him.    He  would  not  follow  up  his  disloyalty  to  her 

532 


"A    HERO'S    ROLE!" 

by  being  a  turncoat.  The  Boy's  good,  gray  eyes,  full  of 
such  perfect  confidence  in  his  leadership,  haunted  him. 
He  would  make  the  speech  and  pay  the  price. 

Already  damned  by  his  decision  into  an  outcast  from 
the  University,  he  went  his  way  sullenly  to  the  library. 
On  the  avenue  he  met  Dutton.  Between  the  two  men  a 
coolness  had  existed  of  late  which  Waring  knew  was  due 
to  Dutton 's  belief  that  he  was  deliberately  wooing  the 
wife  of  a  friend.  Dutton  was  one  of  those  exasperating 
persons,  becoming,  it  is  true,  rarer  and  rarer  in  modern 
society,  whose  simple  code  of  morals  knows  but  right  and 
wrong.  This  pitiful  blindness  to  beautiful  shades  of 
gray  turned  him  sometimes  into  a  kind  of  bon  enfant, 
with  whom  the  complex  was  not  safe.  Waring,  wishing 
him  at  the  other  end  of  creation,  stopped  perforce,  be- 
cause Dutton  had  paused  on  the  walk,  a  question  in  his 
face. 

"I've  been  looking  for  you,  old  fellow,"  Dutton 
said,  with  a  note  of  friendliness  in  his  voice  that  had  not 
been  there  for  some  time.  "I  wanted  to  ask  you  if 
you're  back  of  this  mass-meeting  they're  going  to  hold 
to-day. ' ' 

"No;  not  back  of  it  except  in  the  sense  that  I  was 
responsible  in  the  beginning  for  agitating  the  matter. 
They  expect  me  to  make  a  speech." 

"And  you  will?" 

"I  suppose  I  will." 

"Richard,"  Dutton  said  impulsively,  "don't  do  it. 
There's  no  use  fighting  Hunt  and  Rebbor  in  combina- 
tion, and  you'll  only  get  the  worst  of  it." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  'getting  the  worst  of  it'?" 
533 


THE    LAW   OF   LIFE 

Dutton  looked  embarrassed. 

"Well,  out  with  it." 

"They  might  ask  you  to  leave  Hall  worth— that's 
all."      * 

"I  wouldn't  be  much  loss  to  the  place,"  Waring 
said,  with  an  accent  of  bitterness. 

1 '  Oh,  tommy-rot !  You  belong  here.  W'hat  's  the  use 
of  rousing  Hunt's  ire  and  getting  yourself  ousted  for  a 
lost  cause  ? ' ' 

"I've  got  to  stand  by  the  students,  since  they've 
stood  by  me. ' ' 

"That's  all  very  well— very  honorable "  War- 
ing winced "but,  Dicky,  there's  such  a  thing  as — 

recklessness.  Rebbor's  come  to  stay,  so  you'd  better 
stay,  too,  to  help  keep  him  in  bounds. ' ' 

Waring  smiled. 

"So  you're  not  his  out-and-out  enemy?" 

"I  never  did  take  your  view  of  the  matter.  I  think 
his  business  genius  will  be  of  great  service  to  the  Uni- 
versity. At  any  rate  he's  here,  and  the  students  will 
never  force  Hunt's  hands.  He's  too  clever  a  man  and— 
and  he's  not  an  idealist." 

Waring  gave  a  grim  laugh. 

"No;  his  worst  enemy  couldn't  call  him  that." 

Waring  wondered  if  Dutton,  to  hasten  his  marriage 
with  Allaire,  was  trying  to  make  himself  solid  with  the 
President,  but  he  put  the  thought  by  with  sudden  con- 
trition. Dutton  was  an  honest  fellow,  but  never  given  to 
extremes— except  in  love.  His  temperate  view  of  Reb- 
bor  was  entirely  consistent  with  his  character.  No;  this 
concern  was  only  another  proof  of  his  patient  friendli- 


534 


"A    HERO'S    ROLE1" 

"Paul,  you're  several  kinds  of  a  brick;  but  don't 
bother  about  me.     Honestly,  I'm  not  worth  it." 

A  wistful  look  came  into  Dutton's  eyes,  but  he  made 
no  answer. 

They  walked  along  in  a  silence  which  Dutton  broke 
at  last. 

"  Isn't  it  too  bad  they  couldn't  save  Miss  King. 
Such  a  nice  girl ! ' ' 

1 '  What  do  you  mean  ?    I  didn  't  know  she  was  ill. ' ' 

"Haven't  you  heard  of  her  death?  She  died  yester- 
day at  the  hospital  of  pneumonia— late  yesterday  after- 
noon. ' ' 

"Well,  she's  saved  a  lot!"  Waring  said  brutally. 

"I  am  afraid  the  reflection  wouldn't  comfort  the  man 
she  was  engaged  to,"  Dutton  said,  betrayed  into  unac- 
customed satire  by  a  fellow-feeling  for  Clyde,  that  had 
cast  a  shadow  even  over  a  dear  evening  with  Allaire. 

Waring  made  no  reply. 

In  the  library  he  met  Perdita.  She  beckoned  to  him 
from  an  alcove,  and  asked  him  to  accompany  her  to  the 
stacks.    She  wished  to  consult  him  about  a  certain  book. 

He  found  the  book  for  her,  but  her  interest  in  it 
seemed  languid.  As  she  handed  it  back  to  him  she  said 
with  airy  challenge: 

"  Is  the  League  responsible  for  this  mass-meeting, 
calling  us  all  to  a  holocaust  of  the  rich  and  fat  this 
afternoon?  " 

Waring  laughed. 

"This  mass-meeting  is  worse  than  a  germ  in  the  air. 
Paul  Dutton  has  just  been  talking  about  it." 

"Oh,  I'm  immune.  Being  a  woman,  my  business 
535 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

with  John  Rebbor  will  be  wholly  in  the  area  of  func- 
tions—a demi-tasse,  a  rose— a  fan— candles " 

"Yet  you  didn't  approve  of  him." 

"No;  I  don't  yet.  But  V amour  de  I'impossible  is 
not  one  of  my  virtues.    Will  you  be  at  this  meeting?" 

"Yes." 

"Speech?" 

"Yes." 

"Don't." 

"Why  not?" 

"You  ask  a  woman  'why'?    That  isn't  fair." 

"You  say  'don't.'    I  ask  you  'why'?" 

"Hallworth  can't  spare  you,"  she  said,  her  light 
manner  suddenly  dropping  from  her. 

"You  mean  there'll  be  good  reason  for  the  University 
to  deprive  itself  of  such  a  valuable  acquisition  as  myself, 
should  I  address  the  young  things  ? ' ' 

1 1 1  don 't  accept  your  satire.  It  seems  to  me  a  useless 
challenge— at  this  late  day.  Pardon  me  for  speaking 
plainly." 

'  •  Oh,  you  're  right !    I  perfectly  agree  with  you. ' ' 

"Then  why  do  you  do  it?" 

"Logic  of  events." 

She  smiled. 

"There  are  times  when  it  is  imperative  to  be  illogi- 
cal." 

It  was  two  o'clock.  He  had  given  his  promise  of  a 
speech  to  the  Boy,  who  had  departed  in  a  haze  of  grati- 
tude. Time  hanging  heavily  on  his  hands,  he  went  to 
the  office  to  see  if  he  might  find  there  by  any  chance 
some  message  from  Barbara.     He  found  instead  a  note 

536 


"A   HERO'S    ROLE!" 

from  the  Emperor,  saying  she  would  not  find  time  for 
her  editorial  work  until  after  Elizabeth's  funeral.  She 
made  no  reference  to  the  meeting. 


537 


CHAPTER  LIII. 


At  three  o'clock  the  opera-house  was  full  to  the  doors, 
though  no  single  motive  brought  the  assemblage  together. 
The  contingent  of  students  who  had  an  intelligent  com- 
prehension of  the  grounds  of  "Waring 's  attack  upon  Reb- 
bor  was  really  very  small.  Of  the  others,  some  were  there 
to  exercise  their  youthful  privilege  of  opposition— with- 
out regard  to  the  thing  opposed ;  some  because  Quixotism 
is  the  most  rapid  in  its  spread  of  all  contagions ;  while  not 
a  small  number  were  present  for  the  pure  joy  of  match- 
ing their  wills  against  Prexy's— known  to  be  adamant, 
and  tempting  therefore. 

The  women  students  were  conspicuous  by  their  ab- 
sence. The  League  had  already  noted  with  a  certain 
masculine  satisfaction  that  the  ladies,  quite  tractable  and 
docile  while  following  vague,  vast  issues,  shied  at  the 
definite,  and  retreated  to  the  cover  of  Stafford  Hall. 
Certain  officers  of  the  organization  had  already  deducted 
from  this  phenomenon  conclusive  proof  that  women  did 
not  have  the  suffrage,  not  because  they  couldn't  get  it, 
but  because  at  heart  they  didn't  want  it.  It  would  pin 
them  down  to  particular  statements,  definite  theories, 
definite  courses  of  actions,  whereas  they  liked  best  to 
roam. 

On  the  stage  the  officers  of  the  League  were  seated 
with  certain  undergraduates  who,  by  reason  of  their  en- 
thusiasm, or  of  what  they  professed  to  know  on  this 
profound  subject,  were  considered  eligible  speakers. 

538 


"AVE    ROMA    IMMORTALIS!" 

As  three  o'clock  struck  Waring  entered  from  the 
wings  and  seated  himself  at  the  back  of  the  stage.  His 
appearance  was  greeted  with  applause,  and  with  the 
time-honored  question  of  what  was  the  matter  with  him. 
The  assemblage  being  unanimous  in  its  opinion  that  he 
was  all  right,  the  meeting  was  called  to  order. 

The  very  young  spoke  first,  on  the  principle  that  the 
arguments  would  gain  in  weight  and  lucidity  with  in- 
creasing years  and  experience.  What  the  very  young 
said  made  up  in  fervor  what  it  lacked  in  originality. 
They  had  evidently  been  wrestling  with  tough  volumes 
in  that  stack  of  the  library  devoted  to  social  economics. 
If  the  information  derived  therefrom  bore  about  it  a  cer- 
tain Corot  atmosphere,  it  gained  in  picturesqueness  what 
it  lost  in  reliability.  Waring's  sense  of  humor  was  se- 
verely tried  during  the  speechmaking  despite  the  heavi- 
ness that  weighed  upon  him.  He  was  experiencing  the 
sensations  of  a  candidate  who  must  listen  with  smiling 
approval  to  the  misconceptions  of  his  policy  as  set  forth 
by  his  constituents.  Surely  they  who  rouse  youth  must 
be  skilful  firemen. 

The  post-graduates  followed  with  less  enthusiasm 
but  with  more  righteous  rigidity.  They  spoke  of  the 
changes  which  had  come  over  the  country  within  the  past 
ten  years;  of  the  enormous  commercial  developments; 
of  the  sinister  dangers  hidden  in  the  concentration  of 
wealth ;  finally,  turning  from  the  general  to  the  particu- 
lar, of  Rebbor  and  his  ill-gotten  gains,  arguing  that  his 
trusteeship  would  inevitably  lower  the  ideals  of  Hall- 
worth,  distinguished  from  her  birth  by  her  democratic 
spirit,  her  devotion  to  the  purest  American  principles. 

Much  applause  interrupted  these  speeches.  The  dis- 
539 


THE   LAW    OF   LIFE 

organized  enthusiasm  of  the  opening  of  the  meeting  was 
now  crystallized  into  serious  attention,  even  on  the  part 
of  those  who  had  come  with  no  deeper  purpose  than  to 
see  or  hear  some  new  thing. 

At  last  the  chairman,  the  Boy,  quite  pale  with  ear- 
nestness, introduced  Waring  in  language  youthfully  su- 
perlative. A  hush  came  over  the  meeting.  It  was  ex- 
pected that  the  speech  of  the  leader  of  the  movement 
would  sum  up,  interpret  and  complement  the  others. 

Waring,  as  he  stood  waiting  for  the  clapping  to  sub- 
side, looked  not  a  bad  subject  for  undergraduate  hero- 
worship.  His  athletic  figure  had  taken  on  an  academic 
spareness.  His  strong,  clearly  modeled  face,  somewhat 
worn  by  the  experience  through  which  he  had  been  pass- 
ing, had  just  enough  of  reserve  and  of  repressed  emotion 
in  it  to  suggest  the  mystery  of  superior  knowledge.  A 
professorial  air  he  had  never  had,  being  too  careless  of 
learning  for  its  own  sake. 

Without  preliminary  bows  to  his  subject,  he  began  by 
saying  that  further  comment  on  Rebbor  and  his  gift  to 
the  University  was  unnecessary.  The  trusteeship  was  a 
fact,  and,  despite  his  own  and  their  desire  to  remove  this 
new  officer,  candor  compelled  him  to  admit  that  defeat 
was  almost  a  foregone  conclusion.    What  then? 

At  this  juncture  a  deeper  hush  of  expectancy  fell 
upon  the  house,  clearly  disappointed  by  this  admission 
of  probable  defeat  at  the  very  beginning  of  a  speech  of 
victory,  winged  by  the  youthful  devotion  so  richly  mani- 
fest. 

What  then?  What  remains  always  at  the  end  of 
every  defeat?  Suppose  you  were  fighting  a  battle  for 
some  principle  of  honor  in  your  country's  behalf.    You 

540 


"AVE    ROMA    IMMORTALISE ' 

lose.  Your  nation  adopts  the  very  measure  from  which 
you  fought  to  save  her.  Would  you  on  that  account 
refute  the  obligations  of  your  citizenship,  refuse  to  serve 
her  when  service  was  most  needed?  Your  country  may 
act  contrary  to  every  principle  which  you  believe  right, 
but  you  are  nevertheless  hers;  your  duty  is  to  live  for 
her,  to  die  for  her. 

The  relation  in  which  you  stand  to  your  University 
is  the  same  in  which  you  stand  to  your  country.  What- 
ever she  does,  the  obligation  of  service  is  not  removed. 

He  went  on  to  speak  of  the  various  modes  of  service, 
some  local  and  particular,  some  wide  and  general,  lead- 
ing, indeed,  from  the  lecture-room,  the  library,  the  lab- 
oratory, to  undiscovered  lands  and  places  hid  by  God. 
As  he  spoke  the  poetry  of  his  devotion  to  Hallworth 
came  breaking  through  the  difficult  subject  in  all  the 
gleams  of  romance.  He  told  the  story  of  the  University, 
as  if  the  institution  were  indeed  a  heroine,  differing 
from  others  by  the  promise  of  immortal  life.  Ivy  and 
laurel  were  to  be  hers  in  the  future,  but  not  upon  her 
walls.  They  should  enwreath  her  sons  and  daughters, 
by  whom,  chiefly,  she  was  honored  in  the  world. 

This  was  not  what  the  audience  had  expected,  but 
the  magnetism  of  Waring 's  personality  bore  them 
through  disappointment  into  a  newer,  stranger  enthusi- 
asm, the  eternal  "Ave  Roma  immortalis,  morituri  te 
salutant. ' ' 

The  meeting  ended  in  a  burst  of  applause;  even  the 
perpetual  emotion  of  the  undergraduate,  the  desire  to 
tilt  with  Prexy,  being  for  the  moment  forgotten. 

Afterward   Waring   went   for   a   long,    lonely   walk 
541 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

into  the  country.  Depressed  though  he  was,  he  felt  a 
certain  satisfaction  in  the  event  of  the  afternoon  as  hav- 
ing been  at  least  honest.  He  could  dismiss  it  from  his 
mind,  where  already  the  thought  of  Barbara  was  im- 
perious. 

Just  twenty-four  hours  since  the  scene  in  the  cottage ! 
What  had  been  her  thoughts  of  him  since  then?  Lose 
her  he  could  not— that  was  all  he  knew! 

The  country  through  which  he  tramped  was  haunted 
by  her.  On  the  edge  of  a  pine-wood  he  paused.  Against 
its  green  gloom  her  face  seemed  to  form,  white,  clear, 
pure;  framed  in  its  soft  dark  hair;  the  deep  gray  eyes, 
gray  as  the  sea  under  a  dark  sky,  gazing  into  his,  mourn- 
ful as  a  woman's,  trustful  as  a  child's.  Would  she  ever 
trust  him  again? 

Her  fleeing  from  him  had  made  her  infinitely  more 
precious,  more  to  be  desired.  His  heart  hungered  for 
her ;  all  the  more  because  exile  might  be  thrust  upon  him. 
What  woman  could  ever  take  her  place?  Their  beauty, 
their  wit,  their  love,  might  divert  him,  might  carry  him 
away  for  a  time,  but  her  soul!  her  soul!  What  could 
take  the  place  of  its  perfect  sweetness ! 

He  walked  on  and  on,  her  face  before  him,  her  voice 
in  his  ears— a  voice  whose  richness  and  depth  of  tone 
had  always  delighted  him.  When  she  said  "Kichard" 
heaven  opened. 

Spring  would  purple  the  hills  soon  and  wrap  the  wil- 
lows in  yellow  fog.  Already  the  intolerable  thrill  of  it 
was  in  the  air.  Even  as  a  child  he  had  hated  the  season, 
with  its  freight  of  restlessness,  of  unsatisfied  life.  In  the 
city  it  came  with  flying  dust,  with  heat  in  sunny  corners, 
and  that  faint  odor  of  asphalt,  suggestive  of  infinite 

542 


"AVE    ROMA   IMMORTALIS!" 

summer  weariness.  In  the  country,  with  consumptive, 
fragile  flowers,  damp  breezes,  swollen  brooks  and  sudden 
hot  sunshine;  but  whether  in  city  or  country,  the  vague 
oppression  of  it  had  never  been  wholly  absent  from  his 
spirit.  Now  it  deadened  him,  knowing  how  long  his  arms 
were  to  be  empty.  He  saw  a  procession  of  springs  lead- 
ing to  many  scenes,  to  many  people,  but  never  to  her; 
the  path  of  success,  perhaps,  the  ways  of  a  thousand  in- 
terests, but  never  the  homeward  way. 

He  remembered  little  things  about  her,  as  one  re- 
members the  traits  of  the  dead:  her  manner  of  turning 
her  head  on  one  side  when  she  was  listening;  the  slight 
lift  of  the  short  upper  lip  when  she  smiled;  her  quick, 
nervous  movements;  her  habit  of  propping  her  cheek 
on  her  hand;  all  the  sweet  ways  of  her. 

The  stars  were  shining  when  he  returned  to  the  cam- 
pus ;  but  darker  night  was  in  his  heart. 

Next  morning  the  mail  brought  him  her  letter;  also 
a  note  from  the  President  asking  him  to  call  that  after- 
noon. 


35  543 


CHAPTER   LIV. 

THE   FACE   OF   EXILE. 

When  Waring  called  that  afternoon  at  the  Presi- 
dent's he  was  ushered  into  the  drawing-room,  stately  and 
comfortless,  reflecting  in  the  arrangement  of  its  furni- 
ture the  austerities  of  an  unmarried  middle-aged  scholar. 
The  very  silence  of  the  house  seemed  official. 

On  the  polished  floor  of  the  hall  came  the  pit-pat  of 
a  dog's  feet.  Melampus  entered,  sniffed,  but,  respecting 
academic  calves,  retired  to  the  vantage  point  of  the 
hearth.  In  any  other  mood  Waring  would  have  made 
friends  with  the  dog,  exercising  a  certain  talent  of  at- 
traction he  possessed  for  animals;  but  to-day  even  triv- 
ialities seemed  not  worth  while. 

He  found  himself  suddenly  nervous  and  longing  for 
the  interview  to  be  over.  What  its  nature  would  be  he 
had  not  the  slightest  doubt.  Under  the  reserve  and 
courtesy  of  the  President's  brief  note  he  read  the  final 
resolve.    He  should  be  asked  to  leave  Hall  worth. 

He  had  set  his  teeth,  ignoring  the  pain  that  wrenched 
his  heart.  Until  he  had  known  Barbara  he  had  made  a 
bride  of  the  University.  Now  Alma  Mater  questioned  his 
devotion.  In  truth  "Love  had  robbed  him  of  immortal 
things." 

A  servant  entered,  requesting  him  to  go  to  the 
library,  where  Dr.  Hunt  awaited  him. 

He  found  the  President  seated  at  his  desk,  turning 
over  some  papers.     The  day  being  unusually  dark  and 

544 


THE    FACE    OF    EXILE 

stormy,  the  candles  were  lighted  in  the  tall  bronze  can- 
delabra upon  the  desk.  From  this  halo  of  mild  radiance 
Dr.  Hunt's  face  looked  out,  urbane  as  that  of  his  idol 
Horace.  As  Waring  entered  he  rose  and  shook  hands 
with  him  cordially. 

"Pardon  me  for  keeping  you  waiting,"  he  said,  in 
his  clear,  crisp  voice.  "I  had  an  important  letter 
to  finish.  No;  take  this  chair.  I  can  vouch  for  its 
springs.  A  nasty  day,  is  it  not?  Let  me  give  you  a  lit- 
tle port." 

"Indeed,  no.    Nothing  for  me." 

"I  insist.  I  know  the  history  of  this— legitimate 
throughout. ' ' 

He  touched  a  bell  and  gave  orders  to  a  servant. 
When  the  decanter  was  brought  he  poured  out  a  glass  for 
Waring,  then  one  for  himself,  holding  it  up  to  the  light, 
as  if  for  the  moment  he  forgot  everything  but  its  deli- 
cious color  and  aroma. 

Waring  sipped  his  unwillingly.  He  wished  no  physi- 
cal sensations  to  come  between  him  and  what  he  had  to 
meet. 

The  President  seemed  in  no  hurry  to  open  the  sub- 
ject. He  took  his  wine  with  all  the  deliberateness  of  the 
epicure,  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  relaxed  and  grateful ; 
talking  on  various  subjects  with  the  charm  of  which  he 
was  capable.  He  rose  at  last  to  show  his  guest  a  The- 
ocritus whose  binding  he  had  himself  designed.  War- 
ing turned  the  leaves  absently,  bending  a  young,  dis- 
turbed face  over  its  rich  beauty. 

His  pallor,  his  look  of  defeat,  were  appealing  to  the 
President  as  the  cleverest  defense  of  his  position  could 
not  have  done.     Of  all  the  younger  men  in  the  Univer- 

545 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

sity,  this  one  who  had  persistently  opposed  him  was  his 
favorite.  But  he  had  been  too  long  dominated  by  an  im- 
personal and  official  rule  of  life  to  be  turned  aside  from 
his  purpose  by  his  liking  for  Waring.  This  hot-headed 
theorist  must  go.  The  New  York  morning  papers  had 
given  half  columns  to  this  mass-meeting  as  perhaps  criti- 
cal in  determining  the  future  policy  of  Hallworth.  Keb- 
bor's  gift  and  the  terms  of  it  having  been  fully  ex- 
ploited, the  news  of  the  meeting  took  on  more  than  a 
local  interest.  One  paper  said  that  despite  the  youth  of 
the  instigators  and  their  obscure  position  it  had  almost  a 
national  significance;  because  it  dealt  with  what  had  be- 
come essentially  a  national  issue. 

The  President  had  read  these  accounts  with  impa- 
tience. That  he  had  not  forbidden  the  meeting  was  the 
logical  issue  of  his  policy  of  ignoring  agitations  among 
the  students,  and  of  his  belief  that  Waring  would 
scarcely  go  so  far  as  to  address  it.  But  he  had  taken 
this  last,  fatal  step.  His  speech,  much  garbled,  was  in 
the  papers. 

What  the  President  could  do  to  repair  the  mischief 
he  had  done ;  sending  a  wire  that  morning  to  Rebbor  that 
the  University  disclaimed  all  responsibility  in  the  mat- 
ter, and  that  Waring 's  resignation  would  be  asked  for. 
Within  a  couple  of  hours  a  reassuring  telegram  had  ar- 
rived, begging  Dr.  Hunt  not  to  concern  himself  over  a 
piece  of  youthful  misconception  and  folly— the  dismissal 
of  Waring  was  all  the  comment  necessary  to  the  world 
from  Hallworth. 

Waring  laid  down  the  Theocritus  and  turned  to  his 
host  with  an  expectant  look,  which  drew  the  President's 
thoughts  at  last  to  his  lips. 

546 


THE    FACE    OF   EXILE 

"I  had  not  the  pleasure,"  he  began,  "of  attending 
your  mass-meeting  yesterday. ' ' 

Waring  smiled  faintly,  said  nothing. 

' '  But  my  deprivation  has  been  in  part  made  up  to  me 
by  these  somewhat  elaborate  reports  of  it  in  the  New 
York  morning  papers.  Mr.  Waring,  I  congratulate 
you,"  he  added  dryly.  "You  certainly  have  the  courage 
of  your  convictions." 

Still  Waring  was  silent. 

"I  will  not  enter  into  argument  with  you  concerning 
these  principles  which  you  believe  to  be  at  stake,"  the 
President  went  on  in  his  even,  measured  voice;  "to  youth 
its  theories,  to  age  its  facts,  I  think  you  have  conscien- 
tiously tried  to  serve  the  University  according  to  your 
lights,  but— but  these  may  have  their  limitations— may 
be  untrustworthy— may— may  hover,  indeed,  above 
quagmires." 

Waring  nodded,  his  fingers  playing  nervously  with 
the  stem  of  his  wine-glass. 

' '  To  hitch  your  wagon  to  a  star  is  not  always  a  rwise 
course,  despite  our  Emerson.  We  are  concerned  chiefly 
with  the  affairs  of  this  planet— not  to  be  learned  in  an 
hour.  Forgive  me  for  being  personal  when  I  say  that 
you  have  an  extraordinary  number  of  the  virtues  of 
youth,  but,  as  always,  you  pay  the  penalty  for  your  rich 
endowment— I  should  recommend  you  to  experi- 
ence  " 

He  paused.    Waring  raised  his  eyes  a  moment. 

1 '  I  thank  you,  ■ '  he  said  simply.  ' '  I  quite  appreciate 
your  point  of  view. ' ' 

The  President  smiled. 

"I  hope  it  will  not  cost  me  your  friendship— which, 
547 


THE   LAW   OF   LIFE 

believe  me,  I  esteem— when  I  say  to  you,  frankly,  that  I 
think  New  York  would  be  a  wider  and  better  field  for 
your  activities  than  any  university.  Newspaper  work, 
in  which  you  have  already  scored  such  brilliant  suc- 
cesses, offers  enormous  opportunities  in  the  editorial 
field  for  the  promulgation  of  political  and  social  enter- 
prises. Moreover  the  cosmopolitan  life  is  a  corrective  to 
idealism "  He  paused,  smiling.  "Not  that  I  under- 
value idealism  when  kept  in  bounds,  but  the  academic 
life  is  apt  to  foster  it  to  the  exclusion  of  sterner  qualities. 
These,  also,  I  believe  you  possess,  and  should  bring  to 
abundant  fruition  in  the  city  world.  I  have  written  to 
the  editor  of  the  Morning  Post— a,  lifelong  friend— rec- 
ommending you  to  the  highest  position  he  can  give  you 
on  his  staff.  Should  you  prefer  to  continue  the  aca- 
demic life,  you  may  count  on  my  influence  to  secure 
you  a  position  in  some  university  worthy  of  your 
services. ' ' 

"Which  Hallworth  dispenses  with,"  Waring  said, 
with  quiet  abruptness. 

"Do  not  put  it  harshly.  If  we  ask  your  resignation, 
we  yet  know  that  our  loss  is  great." 

"Thank  you,  sir.  Shall  I  present  my  resignation  be- 
fore the  next  Faculty  meeting  ? ' ' 

"If  you  will  be  so  kind." 

Silence  fell  between  them.  The  rain  beat  against  the 
window-panes,  the  wind  cried  in  the  chimney.  No  re- 
sistance was  in  Waring 's  face,  now  fast  assuming  the 
patience  of  utter  defeat.  The  President  steeled  himself 
against  it,  and,  suddenly  resentful  of  his  own  weakness, 
began  a  conversation  on  bookbindings.  He  detained  the 
young   man    for   another   half -hour,    showing   him    his 

548 


THE    FACE    OF    EXILE 

treasures,  touching  them  as  a  mother  touches  golden 
baby  hair,  or  a  lover  a  rose  given  him  by  his  mistress. 
Waring  looked  at  the  sumptuous  things  and  listened  to 
the  voice  caressing  them  as  it  described  them,  but  his 
own  comments  were  few.  As  soon  as  he  could  he  took 
his  departure,  saying  farewell  with  no  further  allusion 
to  the  uppermost  subject. 

He  went  directly  to  his  rooms  in  the  ex- President's 
house  and  sat  down  at  his  desk.  A  little  more  than  two 
months  remained  to  him— then  what?  Ambition  had  be- 
come so  thoroughly  identified  with  Hallworth  that  dis- 
associate the  University  from  it  and  nothing  was  left. 
What  to  him  now  was  success  in  the  great,  feverish  city, 
offering  Its  inhabitants  many  wonders,  but  rarely  failing 
to  take  its  toll  from  them  of  vital  force.  Its  commercial 
ideals,  its  presto  movement,  its  crowds,  its  continual  con- 
cert pitch,  he  shrank  from  it  all  in  a  new,  strange  fear. 
Closing  his  eyes,  he  saw  the  long  sky-line,  serrated  with 
giant  buildings  dwarfing  church  towers;  the  great 
wharves,  where  the  greyhounds  were  chained;  the  har- 
bor thronged  with  sails,  with  screaming  tugs;  the  curve 
of  the  huge  bridge  suspended  above  racing  and  meeting 
currents.  He  saw  the  sun  sink  behind  the  Jersey  shore, 
and  one  by  one  the  lights  come  out  in  the  tall  buildings, 
and  night,  a  city  night,  full  of  mystery,  of  restless  pain 
and  pleasure,  descend  unquietly.  He  saw  himself  work- 
ing late  in  some  Park  Row  office,  leaving  at  last  to  go — 
where?  The  great  city  offered  no  home— without  her. 
Homeless,  and  with  his  dearest  ambitions  taken  from 
him,  what  could  New  York  be  to  him  but  a  place 
haunted  with  the  strife  of  tongues  ? 

549 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

He  took  a  sheet  of  paper  and  began  a  letter  to  her, 
tore  it  up  and  began  again. 

"Dear  Mrs.  Penfold: 

"I  am  to  leave  Hallworth,  not  by  my  will,  but  be- 
cause the  President  requests  my  resignation.  My  pres- 
ence at  the  mass-meeting  against  Rebbor's  trusteeship 
clinched  the  matter. 

"I  pray  that  you  will  grant  me  the  favor  and  honor 
of  a  word  with  you  before  I  go;  that  is,  if  I  have  not 
forfeited  all  right  to  such  kindness  on  your  part.  Be 
merciful.    I  shall  have  other  punishments. 

"As  soon  as  the  University  closes  I  shall  go  to  New 
York,  to  work  there  in  some  way.    Must  I  go  in  despair  ? 

"Faithfully  yours,  Eichard  Waring." 

He  sealed  and  addressed  this,  then,  bowed  down  by 
his  thoughts,  he  sat  for  a  long  time  motionless,  his  head 
resting  on  the  desk.  There  Dutton  found  him,  coming 
in  to  learn  the  truth  of  a  report  already  in  circulation 
that  Waring  was  to  leave  the  University.  He  rose, 
startled  as  Dutton  entered,  the  expression  in  his  face 
confirming  the  news. 

Dutton  held  out  both  hands. 

"Dicky,  this  is  hard  lines.  Why  in  thunder  didn't 
you  take  my  advice  ? ' ' 

"Am  I  already  an  object  of  pity?  How  did  you 
learn  it  so  quickly?" 

1 '  Oh,  nobody  knows  anything ;  but,  of  course,  the  less 
they  know  the  more  they  talk. ' ' 

1  \  Naturally.  But  it  is  true.  I  had  an  interview  with 
the  President  this  afternoon— not  that  I  said  much,"  he 

550 


THE    FACE    OF    EXILE 

added,  with  a  smile;  "  he  did  the  talking,  after  forti- 
fying me  with  his  best  port. ' ' 

"Was  he  cutting?"  Dutton  said,  with  a  worried 
look. 

"Not  at  all— suave  as  a  diplomat— finished  up  by 
showing  me  his  pet  bindings. ' ' 

"Richard,  don't  take  it  too  much  to  heart.  You'll 
come  back  to  us  again, ' '  Dutton  said  warmly. 

"I  don't  see  Hallworth  clamoring  for  me  in  any 
near  future." 

"They  will  if  you  get  famous  down  in  your  beloved 
New  York." 

Waring  smiled. 

"There  are  too  many  in  Manhattan  already  with  the 
same  ambition." 

"But  you've  made  your  reputation,"  Dutton  urged. 

"Dear  fellow,  if  you  knew  New  York,  you'd  know 
what  was  meant  by  a  three  months'  memory— three 
weeks',  rather.     I'm  a  back  number." 

1 '  You ! ' '  Dutton  said,  with  incredulity. 

"Yes— I!  Don't  talk  any  more  about  my  wretched 
affairs.  Tell  me  what  you're  up  to.  I  have  cigars  here 
that  Mephisto  could  have  bribed  Faust  with. ' ' 

Dutton 's  eyes  lit  up. 

The  two  men  settled  themselves  comfortably,  and 
were  soon  ennimbused  with  faint  blue  smoke.  All  harsh 
outlines,  whether  of  the  spiritual  or  physical  vision,  be- 
came softened.  A  dreamy  expression  stole  into  Waring 's 
eyes.    Dutton  looked  as  if  he  were  thinking  of  Allaire. 

At  last  he  spoke. 

"Did  you  know  that  Warren  is  considering  an  offer 
from  Leland  Stanford?" 

551 


THE    LAW    OF    LIFE 

"No,  is  he?  I  hope  to  goodness  he'll  accept  it  for 
your  sake." 

Dutton  looked  wistful,  eager,  discouraged,  anxious, 
all  at  once. 

"Do  you  think  there's  any  chance  of  Hunt's  giving 
me  his  post  ?    There  are  so  many  strong  outside  men. ' ' 

"You've  got  to  have  it.  I'll  make  it  my  dying  re- 
quest to  the  President, ' '  Waring  said  grimly. 

"Think  what  depends  on  it.  Why— why  if  I  got  it 
I  could— get  married." 

A  shadow  crossed  Waring 's  face. 

"You're  going  to  be  confoundedly  happy,"  he  said. 

Dutton  nodded,  and  blew  a  beatific  ring  of  smoke. 
Waring  put  his  cigar  down  as  if  the  soul  had  gone  out  of 
it.  He  rose  and  paced  the  floor,  then  pausing,  stood 
back  of  Dutton,  putting  both  hands  on  his  shoulders. 

"Paul,"  he  said  quietly,  "we'll  work  for  that  pro- 
fessorship.   I  know  four  distinct  wires  I  can  pull." 

"Will  you  be  my  best  man?" 

"I'll  do  everything— but  go  to  the  wedding!" 


552 


CHAPTER  LV. 

OTHER  LIVES. 

Elizabeth's  funeral  over,  and  her  people  departed, 
the  thoughts  which  had  been  held  down  by  a  weight  of 
responsibility,  again  came  to  the  surface  of  Barbara's 
mind.  Though  Clyde  was  still  her  guest,  his  unobtrusive 
manner  of  life  made  all  too  few  demands  upon  her.  He 
lived  with  the  dead,  not  the  living,  having  about  him  all 
the  gentleness  of  those  preoccupied.  She  scarcely  knew 
he  was  in  the  house. 

Waring 's  letter  had  caused  her  keen  anguish.  It 
was  one  thing  to  bid  him  go— another  to  have  him  taken 
from  her.  Yet  she  knew  that  in  the  light  of  her  final 
decision,  no  other  course,  voluntary  or  involuntary,  was 
possible.    The  hour  had  come  for  the  surgeon's  knife. 

Now  that  she  had  refused  to  be  divorced,  by  the  very 
nature  of  all  decisions  the  ghost  of  her  rejection  of  this 
exit  haunted  her.  She  asked  herself  why.  Was  it  for 
some  dim  idea  of  duty;  some  sub-conscious  principle 
which  years  of  renouncing  would  perhaps  evoke  and 
clarify?  Was  it  self-respect?  Was  it  cowardice?  Was 
it  a  pitying  protection  for  a  harmless  life  so  perfectly 
at  her  mercy?  Was  it  all  these  things  combined?  She 
scarcely  knew,  having  acted  throughout  more  by  instinct 
than  in  recognition  of  a  well-understood  law. 

Often  these  days  she  looked  at  her  crucifix.  Perceval 
had  promised  her  suffering.  Well,  at  least  she  had  that. 
But  the  law  for  which  she  suffered,  what  was  it?  Did 
the  gods,  ravished  with  jealousy  of  that  sweet,  strange 

553 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

human  love,  set  up  invisible  barriers— death,  pain,  duty, 
labor  to  drive  men  into  the  loneliest  way— the  way  that 
led  to  them  I  Or  was  it  a  law-  of  human  society  to  pro- 
tect the  greatest  number,  though  hearts  broke? 

One  morning  these  questions,  childless  of  answers, 
became  unendurable.     She  went  to  her  husband's  study. 

"Amos,"  she  said,  without  preliminary  speech, 
"you  promised  me  work.    Can  I  begin  to-day?" 

Her  husband  looked  puzzled  for  a  moment;  then  re- 
membered his  promise  to  her. 

1 ' Would  you  really  like  to  do  something  for  me?" 

1 '  More  than  I  can  say.    Have  you  anything  to  copy  ? ' ' 

"Not  this  morning.  But  I  wish  you'd  sort  these  let- 
ters, see  which  need  answering  immediately.  After  that, 
if  you  care  to,  search  this  drawer  for  an  envelope 
marked  with  the  number  3001.  I've  mislaid  it  and  it 
contains  valuable  notes." 

She  went  to  work  as  he  bade  her.  He  bent  over  his 
desk  again.  An  hour  passed  in  silence.  Then  he 
looked  up. 

"You've  heard,  of  course,  that  Richard  has  to  leave. 
It's  ten  thousand  pities.  I  wish  he'd  kept  out  of  this 
scrape. ' ' 

' '  I  suppose  he  had  to  do  what  he  thought  was  right, ' ' 
she  said  dully. 

"His  first  duty  was  to  his  work,"  her  husband  said, 
with  some  asperity.  "I've  lost  a  brilliant  mathema- 
tician, and  where  I'll  find  his  like  I  don't  know.  Hunt 
was  hasty  in  asking  for  his  resignation." 

"Let  me  be  your  assistant,"  Barbara  said,  with  a 
faint  smile. 

"I  wish  you  could,  child.  But  if  I'm  not  mistaken 
554 


OTHER    LIVES 

there's  only  one  great  woman  mathematician  on  record, 
the  Russian,  Sonia  Kovalevsky— and  when  she  remem- 
bered she  was  a  woman  it  was  all  up  with  her  work ! ' ' 

"What  was  the  matter?" 

1 '  She  fell  in  love,  I  believe, ' '  Dr.  Penf old  said. 

Barbara  sighed. 

"What  became  of  her?" 

"She  died  young." 

Barbara  sighed  again. 

He  went  to  his  lecture  at  eleven,  leaving  her  sur- 
rounded by  papers.  A  few  moments  later  Mehitabel 
announced  Allaire. 

' '  Have  you  heard  the  latest  news  ? ' '  she  said,  by  way 
of  greeting. 

"No,  dear,  what?" 

"The  students  have  sent  a  monster  petition  to  the 
President  asking  him  that  Rebbor  be  deposed  and  Mr. 
Waring  be  reinstated.    Isn't  it  youthful  and  pathetic?" 

Barbara  drew  her  brows  together. 

"I  know  Mr.  Waring  will  not  like  that." 

1  ■  Of  course  not.  He  just  hates  it.  I  had  a  talk  with 
him  this  morning  in  the  stacks,  where  I  was  after  the 
most  frivolous  novel  I  could  find.  He's  done  all  he  can 
to  muzzle  the  youngsters,  but  they  know  his  resignation 
was  asked  for,  and  now  they're  just  between  his  feet  like 
puppies.  He  simply  treads  on  freshmen,  and  he  looks 
bored." 

' '  Naturally, ' '  Barbara  said,  with  the  ghost  of  a  smile. 

"  '0,  Richard,  O  mon  roi!'  "  Allaire  murmured. 
She  never  respected  the  report  that  Mrs.  Penfold  was  in 
love  with  Waring,  and  in  consequence  Barbara  felt  more 

555 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

at  ease  with  her  than  if  she  were  always  avoiding  his 
name. 

"He's  several  kinds  of  a  duck,"  she  went  on.  "Told 
Paul  he'd  pull  wires  for  him  to  get  Dr.  Warren's  chair." 

"Is  Dr.  Warren  leaving?" 

1 '  For  Leland  Stanford. ' ' 

"I  do  hope  Mr.  Dutton  will  get  the  chair,"  Barbara 
said  earnestly. 

"If  he  does  it  will  mean  that  we  can  get  a  few  do- 
mestic ones  and  some  spoons  and  forks." 

Barbara  leaned  over  and  kissed  Allaire's  cheek. 

"Have  you  heard  that  Mr.  Perceval  goes  to  New 
York  in  June?"  Allaire  asked. 

"Yes." 

"What  grudge  have  so  many  nice  people  against 
this  place  that  they're  all  fleeing  to  that  impossible 
city?" 

"Who— who  besides  the— two  we  know  of?"  Barbara 
questioned. 

1 '  Your  Emperor. ' ' 

"Oh,  yes,  Helena.     She  gets  her  doctorate  in  June." 

"An  imperious  and  inscrutable  lady.  But  she's  all 
right." 

"Quite  all  right,"  Barbara  said. 

She  was  wondering  if  there  was  any  way  in  which 
she  could  advance  Dutton 's  interests.  So  far  her  role  in 
the  life  of  Hallworth  had  been  purely  social.  Partly 
from  her  absorption  in  Waring,  partly  from  her  child- 
like distrust  of  her  own  powers,  it  had  never  occurred 
to  her  that  she  might  have  influence  in  the  official  life 
of  the  University.  Yet  Perdita  had  such  influence; 
wielded,    it   is   true,    in   a   silent   and   subtle    manner, 

556 


OTHER    LIVES 

between  waves  of  a  fan  or  over  a  demi-tasse,  but  still  — 
effective,  far-reaching. 

She  might  give  a  little  dinner  to  the  President  and 
invite  Dutton,  or  she  might  see  Mrs.  Maturin  and  Per- 
dita,  and  ask  their  good  offices.  She  decided  that  she 
would  first  see  them. 

That  afternoon  she  went  to  Mrs.  Maturin 's.  From 
her  first  introduction  to  it  she  had  always  loved  this 
house,  sacred  through  all  its  graciousness  of  hospitality 
to  a  lost  hope  and  a  lost  desire.  "Resurrexi,  et  adhuc 
tecum  sum"  might  have  been  written  above  its  portals, 
so  haunted  was  it  by  a  Presence,  of  which  its  chatelaine 
at  least  was  always  aware.  In  the  years  to  come  this 
persistent  devotion  might  take  on  the  character  of  ec- 
centricity, but  Barbara  was  too  young  to  foresee  this. 

Mrs.  Maturin  at  her  desk  in  the  library  welcomed  her 
with  flattering  informality.  Barbara  went  at  once  to 
her  subject.  She  began  by  speaking  of  Dutton 's  faith- 
ful work  in  the  University,  of  his  noble  and  sincere 
character,  of  his  engagement  with  Allaire,  and  of  what 
a  full  professorship  would  mean  to  the  two,  ending  by  a 
plea  for  Mrs.  Maturin 's  support. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  can  do,  but  if  the  subject 
was  ever  broached,  you'd  speak  a  good  word  for  him?" 

Mrs.  Maturin  looked  at  her  curiously.  Barbara's 
delicate  face  was  alight  with  earnestness;  its  marks  of 
suffering  half-fading  in  this  ardor  of  enthusiasm.  She 
had  not  closely  watched  this  younger  woman  for  the  last 
year  not  to  know  now  that  the  intensity  she  displayed 
was  rebound  from  the  facing  of  dread  issues.  That  she 
was  trying  to  forget  something  was  evident,  her  effort  to 

557 


THE    LAW   OF   LIFE 

remember  other  interests  and  other  lives  having  its  own 
element  of  strain  and  suffering. 

1 '  Speak  a  word  for  him !  A  hundred  if  they  give  me 
the  chance.  Haliworth  has  need  of  something  more 
than  scholarship— and  Paul  Dutton's  a  good  man." 

" Don't  you  think— that— that  the  personal  character 
counts  in  an  institution ! ' ' 

"More  than  scholarship,  I  should  say.  We're  all 
bound  up  together." 

Barbara  nodded— paused— then  thought  aloud. 

"I  wish  wre  were  not.  It's  so  comfortless— living 
for  society— for  the  race.    Do  you  not  think  so?" 

' '  Do  you  know  those  lines  of  George  Meredith  ?  '  Not 
till  the  fire  is  dying  in  the  grate  look  we  for  any  kinship 
with  the  stars.'  I  think  that  sums  it  up.  I  don't  think 
we  do  live  with  the  social  ideal  uppermost  until  the 
hearth  is  cold." 

Barbara  shivered. 

"I  prefer  the  hearth  fire.  I'm  not  big  enough  for 
the  other." 

Mrs.  Maturin  said  nothing,  knowing  from  bitter  ex- 
perience how  empty  membership  in  the  choir  invisible 
leaves  the  heart. 

The  talk  drifted  to  other  subjects. 

As  Barbara  rose  to  go  the  President  was  announced. 

During  these  past  few  days  the  august  head  of  Hall- 
worth  had  seemed  to  her  an  instrument  in  the  hands  of 
the  gods.  She  trembled  now  as  she  took  his  hand,  sud- 
denly resentful  of  him  in  every  fiber  of  her  bein^. 

He  looked  down  at  her,  and  in  a  dim  way  under- 
stood what  was  in  her  eyes.  Even  he,  protected  by  age 
and  sex  and  monumental  scholarship,  had  not  wholly 

558 


OTHER   LIVES 

escaped  the  spell  of  Mr.   Richard  Waring 's   chivalry. 
This  little  thing ! 

"I  hope  you  are  well,"  he  said  kindly.  "And  Dr. 
Penfold?" 

"Very  well,  thank  you,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  but 
did  not  meet  his  glance. 

After  she  had  gone  he  went  to  a  bookcase,  pulled 
down  an  anthology  of  modern  verse,  and  turned  over  the 
leaves. 

"Are  you  looking  at  something  in  particular?" 

"Yes— a  bit" of  modern  verse  I  once  saw,  and  which 
to  my  amazement  remained— a  line  or  two  of  it— in  my 
memory. ' ' 

"What  was  it?"  she  asked. 

"Just  a  little  sentimental  bit.  I  don't  recall  but  two 
lines  of  it. " 

"What  were  they?" 

■ '  God  gave  them  youth,  God  gave  them  love, 
And  even  God  can  give  no  more. ' ' 

Barbara  meanwhile  had  gone  to  Perdita's.  In  the 
little  drawing-room  she  found  not  only  her  hostess  but 
Mrs.  Joyce,  who  had  a  curiously  conscious  air,  as  if 
caught  in  gossip.  But  Perdita  gave  her  a  warm  and 
spontaneous  welcome. 

"Mrs.  Penfold,"  Mrs.  Joyce  said,  with  the  manner 
of  one  who  talks  to  divert  suspicion,  "I  have  accom- 
plished the  impossible.  I  waylaid  Dr.  Penfold  on  the 
campus  this  morning,  and  made  him  consent  to  come  to 
a  stag  dinner  Herbert  will  give  next  week.  He  received 
his  invitation  yesterday,  so  you  see  I  lost  no  time.  How 
did  I  do  it  ?  He  may  tell  you  I  pestered  him,  but  I 
36  559 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

really  only  flattered  him.  Oh,  I  know  them,  these  schol- 
ars! They're  going  to  have  a  heavenly  dinner— the 
wretches— while  I  wrestle  with  the  cook,  and  I've  given 
permission  for  them  to  smoke  all  over  the  house  after- 
ward. And  all  I  've  asked  for  in  return  is  a  spring  hat ! 
What  do  you  think  Herbert  said  when  I  proffered  this 
simple  request?" 

Barbara  laughed. 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"That  no  hat  would  fit  my  halo!  That's  all  they 
think  halos  are  good  for— to  save  millinery  bills." 

She  went  off  in  the  midst  of  her  sparkle,  kissing  her 
hand  to  Perdita,  and  nodding  brightly  to  Mrs.  Penfold. 
Left  alone,  the  two  women  looked  into  each  other's  eyes 
and  smiled. 

Barbara  told  her  errand. 

"Dear  old  Dutton!"  Perdita  said;  "indeed  he  must 
have  it!    It's  imperative.    I'll  do  all  I  can." 

She  studied  Barbara's  wistful  face,  wondering  how 
the  news  of  Waring 's  forced  resignation  affected  her. 

"She  was  too  young,"  she  thought,  "to  have  had  all 
this." 

Barbara  went  away  with  her  promise.  It  was  begin- 
ning to  seem  as  if  two  people  in  the  world  at  least  were 
to  be  happy. 

She  went  home  with  the  purpose  of  answering  War- 
ing's  letter.  She  had  the  strange  feeling  that  she  must 
put  all  her  earthly  affairs  in  order,  likf  those  who  ex- 
pect death.  She  waited  until  late.  Some  letters  are 
written  more  easily  at  midnight  than  in  the  glare  of 
day. 

560 


OTHER   LIVES 

"You  ask  me,"  she  began  abruptly  and  without 
greeting,  ' '  if  you  can  see  me  again.  I  do  not  know  what 
good  it  will  do,  but  you  are  going  away— I  want  to  say 

good-by— to  tell   you "  her  pen  stopped— "to   ask 

you  to  forgive  me  what  pain  I  may  have  caused  you. 
You  were  noble  to  do  as  you  did  at  the  meeting— you  go 
away  in  honor— and  I  think  that  more  awaits  you  in 
New  York.  I  pray  so.  I  will  see  you  again — but  not 
until  June— until  the  last  moment.    It  will  be  easier  so." 

She  signed  her  initials.  Afterward  she  wrote  a 
little  note  to  Perceval  asking  him  if  she  might  keep  the 
crucifix. 


561 


CHAPTER  LVL 

A  DISSOLVING   WORLD. 

During  the  next  six  weeks  Barbara  and  her  husband 
were  more  closely  associated  in  their  daily  life  than  they 
had  been  since  their  marriage.  Divining  in  her  some 
hidden  need  of  distraction,  though  too  closely  wedded  to 
his  preconceived  ideal  of  her  to  discern  even  remotely 
the  truth,  he  did  all  in  his  power  to  supply  her  with 
work,  often  at  a  cost  of  his  own  time  and  labor.  Bar- 
bara's very  presence  in  the  study  meant  a  sacrifice  on 
Dr.  Penfold's  part.  Unless  a  person  was,  like  Waring, 
nearly  on  his  own  plane  of  mathematical  achievement, 
he  worked  better  in  perfect  solitude,  in  an  atmosphere 
undisturbed  by  another's  limitations.  Barbara,  think- 
ing  only  of  drowning  sorrow,  did  not  at  first  perceive 
this;  but  after  a  while  it  became  evident  to  her  that 
what  she  did  could  be  of  little  service  to  her  husband. 
Another  exit  was  closing  in  her  face. 

They  were  alone  again,  Clyde  having  returned  to  his 
fraternity.  Life  had  settled  back  into  an  even  groove, 
which  promised  to  stretch  into  endless  years. 

Change  that  was  never  to  be  hers,  she  thought,  was 
busy  in  the  little  world  outside  the  house.  She  was  dis- 
covering, not  only  through  her  supreme  experience  but 
through  the  very  organization  of  a  university,  that  to 
live  in  it  was  to  be  trained  to  partings.  Your  heart 
could  break  but  once,  but  that  over-strain  must  inevi- 
tably make  you  sensitive  to  farewells. 

562 


A   DISSOLVING   WORLD 

Waring  was  to  go.  The  President  with  much  cour- 
tesy had  refused  the  students'  petition. 

The  Emperor  was  making  ready  for  her  leaving. 
During  these  weeks  she  saw  little  of  Barbara,  partly  be- 
cause the  examination  for  her  doctorate  was  close  upon 
her ;  partly  because  of  her  desire  to  lessen  for  herself  the 
hurt  of  the  final  separation. 

Dutton  had  obtained  his  coveted  post,  though  just 
who  was  responsible  for  the  President's  decision  Bar- 
bara did  not  know.  Whatever  the  processes,  the  fact  of 
his  and  Allaire's  happiness  seemed  assured.  The  wed- 
ding was  to  take  place  in  July. 

Perceval  was  going  to  New  York,  despite  the  efforts 
of  St.  Jude's  to  keep  him.  His  giving  up  this  old  and 
rich  parish  in  a  university  town  for  a  city  mission 
seemed  inexplicable  to  his  parishioners  and  friends. 
Mrs.  Maturin  alone  understood. 

Barbara  felt  as  if  her  world  were  dissolving,  but  with 
desperate  energy  she  kept  at  work;  seeking  as  many  in- 
terests as  she  could,  in  her  husband's  study,  in  the  man- 
agement of  her  house,  in  such  social  functions  as  she 
could  attend  without  danger  of  meeting  Waring.  In- 
deed, this  danger  scarcely  existed,  for  since  handing  in 
his  resignation  he  had  refused  all  invitations,  limiting 
his  social  intercourse  to  farewell  calls.  Though  he  came 
several  times  to  see  Dr.  Penfold,  he  did  not  ask  for  her. 
This  literal  obedience  to  her  request  that  their  final  in- 
terview should  be  on  the  eve  of  his  departure  at  once 
pleased  and  hurt  her. 

The  class  of  which  she  had  been  a  member  in  its 
freshman  year  was  graduating,  and  at  the  beginning  of 
June  she  gave  a  reception,  at  which  its  president,  the 

563 


THE    LAW    OF    LIFE 

Boy,  was  the  guest  of  honor.  Remembering  that  long- 
ago  reception,  where  he  gallantly  sacrificed  the  full  joys 
of  supper  for  her  sake,  she  planned  a  feast  that  in 
variety  and  quality  was  remarkable,  even  in  a  week  of 
feasting.  The  Boy  took  her  out  to  the  supper-room,  and 
she  was  gay  with  him,  as  one  should  be  with  the  presi- 
dent of  the  senior  class  full  of  his  honors,  yet  winning 
and  deferential.  He  parted  from  her  that  night  with 
youthful  expressions  of  the  pleasure  she  had  given  to 
them  all ;  and  at  the  last  in  a  burst  of  confidence  he  told 
her  that  much  of  his  gaiety  was  assumed,  at  heart  he 
was  very  blue.  He  had  not  realized  how  much  he  loved 
Hall  worth  until  the  wrench  of  parting  came. 

After  the  last  guest  was  gone,  she  went  up-stairs, 
where  her  husband  was  already  settling  down  to  work. 
It  was  a  hot  night,  and  though  the  windows  stood  wide 
open,  the  air  of  the  study  seemed  close. 

"Amos,  there's  some  ice-cream  left,"  she  said. 
"Shall  I  bring  you  a  little?" 

"No,  my  dear;  but  I  should  like  another  cup  of  that 
delicious  coffee.  I  don't  want  to  fall  asleep  at  my  desk 
as  I  did  last  night. ' ' 

She  brought  it  to  him,  then  sat  down  near  him,  look- 
ing, in  her  white  gown,  pale  and  fagged. 

' '  My  dear,  was  it  a  success  ?  I  hope  you  did  not  work 
too  hard. ' ' 

"They  seemed  to  enjoy  themselves— and  the  supper 
was  good— I  know  they  enjoyed  that." 

Dr.  Penfold  sipped  his  coffee  with  pleased  delibera- 
tion. Barbara,  watching  him,  wanted  to  ask  him  if  her 
growing  suspicion  were  correct,  if  she  really  hindered 
rather  than  helped  him  by  her  work  in  the  study.    But 

564 


A   DISSOLVING   WORLD 

she  held  back  from  the  question.  She  would  simply  let 
the  work  drop,  she  thought. 

As  he  put  down  his  cup  he  gave  a  little  sigh  of  satis- 
faction. 

"That  was  good.  By  the  way,  my  dear,  I  have  not 
told  you  of  an  honor  which  has  been  bestowed  upon  me. 
The  notification  came  this  morning.  I  have  been  made  a 
member  of  the  Institute  of  France." 

Her  face  lighted  up. 

"Of  the  Institute  of  France!" 

' '  Yes ;  a  member  of  the  Academie  des  Sciences. '  [ 

1 '  That 's  a  great  honor,  isn  't  it  ? " 

"I  believe  it  is  a  great  honor.  There  are  only  eight 
foreign  members." 

' '  And  now  you  are  one  of  those  eight. ' ' 

"Yes." 

' '  I  am  very  proud  of  you, ' '  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  certain  wistfulness,  propping 
his  massive  brow  on  his  thin  yellow  hand. 

"Perhaps  it  repays  you  a  little  for  your  sacrifices  in 
my  behalf." 

1 '  I  don  't  know  what  they  are.  I  have  done  nothing, ' ' 
she  answered. 

"You've  done  much.  You've  been  patient  and  for- 
bearing. I  know  I'm  not  an  easy  man  to  live  with,  but 
you've  never  made  that  knowledge  clearer." 

She  rose  and  went  to  the  window  and  looked  out  for 
a  moment  upon  the  campus. 

"And  would  you  miss  me  if  I  were  not  here?" 

"Miss  you!" 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Dr.  Penfold  fingered 
the  document  which  had  conveyed  to  him  the  news  of 

565 


THE    LAW   OF   LIFE 

his  election  to  the  Institute.  He  had  brought  it  out  for 
Barbara  to  read. 

He  called  her  from  the  window,  and  she  went  and 
bent  over  it,  translating  it  prettily,  giving  full  value  to 
its  intricate  courtesy  of  expression.  He  listened,  watch- 
ing her  face  with  a  pride  new  to  him.  When  she  had 
finished  he  said  timidly : 

1 '  My  dear,  do  you  know  what  honors  like  these  some- 
times make  me  wish,  for?" 

"For  what?"  she  asked. 

1 '  For  a  son  to  bear  my  name. ' ' 


566 


CHAPTER  LVII. 

THE   LAW   OF   LIFE. 

Commencement  week  came,  bringing  with  it  its  pe- 
culiar festivities,  its  atmosphere  of  gaiety,  not  unmingled 
with  regret  and  sadness.  To  those  who  year  in  and  year 
out  have  watched  youth  say  farewell  to  Alma  Mater,  the 
spectacle  increases  rather  than  decreases  in  the  force  of 
its  appeal  to  the  emotions.  The  children  of  the  Univer- 
sity, standing  between  two  worlds,  know  at  last  that  one 
was  a  world  of  many  enchantments,  and,  for  all  its  obli- 
gations of  labor,  essentially  theirs  to  rule  with  the  sweet 
tyrannies  of  confident  youth.  They  had  reigned  for  four 
years  in  this  little  city,  where  no  one  questioned  their 
genius,  their  beauty,  their  brave  ambitions,  where  all 
things  were  possible  because  still  in  the  future.  With 
the  skeptical,  cynical  world  outside  they  had  nothing  to 
do.    It  was  not  in  their  kingdom. 

Now,  through  all  the  stateliness  of  academic  cere- 
mony, they  felt  the  pain  of  dethronement.  The  proud- 
est of  them  knew  that  the  pulse  of  that  other  world 
would  not  beat  the  quicker  for  their  entrance  into  it; 
nay,  their  entrance  would  not  be  even  observed.  For 
four  years  they  had  officered  this  city  of  youth  under  the 
flag  of  class  colors,  University  colors,  surrendering  to  no 
man;  now  the  brave  little  garrison  was  to  be  dispersed 
in  a  world  ignorant  of  its  achievements  and  careless  of 
its  hopes. 

567 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

Barbara  went  to  commencement,  and  saw  Waring, 
in  his  academic  gown  and  hood  of  a  doctor  of  science, 
go  up  with  the  Faculty  for  the  last  time.  She  was  near 
enough  to  watch  his  face.  Gray  and  worn  as  it  was,  the 
sight  of  it  unnerved  her.  Through  a  mist  she  saw  the 
long  procession  file  in,  the  members  of  the  senior  class 
in  cap  and  gown,  some  grave,  some  gay,  all  with  an  air 
of  importance.  The  band  played  "The  Honeysuckle 
and  the  Bee."  Outside  the  hot  June  sunshine— com- 
mencement day  was  always  hot— beat  down  upon  the 
campus.  The  exercises  began.  The  degrees  were  dis- 
tributed. The  Emperor,  tall  and  stately  in  her  black 
gown,  went  up  to  get  her  doctorate.  After  this  cere- 
mony was  over  Barbara  slipped  out,  unable  longer  to 
bear  the  pressure  of  her  emotions. 

She  wondered  if  Waring  would  go  away  without  see- 
ing her,  but  the  afternoon  mail  brought  her  a  note  from 
him  and  one  from  the  Emperor. 

His  read : 

"I  leave  the  day  after  to-morrow.  May  I  see  you 
to-morrow  afternoon?  Perhaps  take  a  little  walk  with 
you?    Do  not  refuse  me." 

No,  she  would  not  refuse  him.  She  had  no  will  to 
refuse  him. 

She  opened  the  Emperor's  note. 

"Good-by,"  it  ran;  "I  leave  on  the  early  train  for 
New  York.  I  am  sparing  myself  in  not  seeing  you. 
You  have  done  well  for  such  a  little  girl.  I'm  not  sure 
of  many  things  in  this  amazing  world,  Barbara,  but  this 
at  least  I  am  sure  of,  that  the  fair  gods  will  receive  you 
into  their  company  at  the  ending  of  the  show. 

568 


THE    LAW    OF    LIFE 

"Me,  I'm  going  to  study  law,  a  tough  subject,  dear, 
but  one  worthy  of  an  Emperor. 
"Good-by.     We  understand!" 

Barbara  smiled  through  her  tears  over  this  charac- 
teristic farewell. 

' '  I  must  see  her, ' '  she  thought. 

So  the  early  morning  found  her  at  the  little  station 
across  the  valley  where  so  many  of  the  children  of  Hall- 
worth  had  come  and  gone.  The  Emperor  was  there,  pale 
in  the  morning  light,,  with  something  of  the  departed 
darkness  in  her  eyes.  The  night  and  its  thousand  stars, 
its  mystery  and  its  loneliness,  had  always  seemed  to  Bar- 
bara to  symbolize  this  girl. 

"I  had  to  see  you,"  Barbara  said. 

"You  were  good  to  come  down  at  this  ungodly  hour, 
but  I  don't  like  good-bys." 

"Nor  I— but  I  had  to  see  you." 

They  had  little  to  say  to  each  other.  They  stood 
with  hands  tightly  clasped,  looking  across  the  valley 
toward  Hallworth. 

"Do  you  know,"  Barbara  said,  "that  in  all  our  ac- 
quaintance you  have  never  kissed  me?" 

The  familiar  smile,  with  its  touch  of  self-mockery, 
flitted  a  moment  across  the  Emperor's  face.  She  stooped 
and  kissed  her. 

1  •  It  was  not  that  I  didn  't  care. ' ' 

Barbara  looked  wistful. 

' '  I  can 't  say  many  things.    You  know  I  love  you. ' ' 

The  Emperor  turned  away  her  head. 

The  train  backed  into  the  station,  and  she  went  up 
on  the  platform  of  the  last  car.    As  she  stood  there  her 

569 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

gallant  bearing  returned  to  her.  She  waved  her  hand, 
her  dark  eyes  full  of  the  old  strange  light,  the  delicate 
mockery  about  her  lips. 

Barbara  winked  back  her  tears. 

"Vive  rEmpereur!"  she  cried  in  farewell,  as  the 
train  drew  out. 

That  afternoon  at  three  Waring  was  announced. 
After  their  formal  greeting,  he  asked  her  if  she  would 
walk, with  him  out  the  forest  road.  She  assented  gravely. 
Both  had  a  solemnity  of  manner  which  told  either  of  the 
ending  of  an  emotional  experience  or  of  the  hope  of  some 
great  solution. 

They  went  into  the  heavy  June  sunshine,  crossing  the 
campus  almost  in  silence.  Soon  the  familiar  road  opened 
before  them,  arched  with  forest  trees,  the  foot-path  be- 
side it  worn  smooth  and  white  with  the  passage  of  many 
feet,  some  leaving  it  that  day  never  more  to  return. 

"You  are  going  straight  to  New  York?"  Barbara 
asked. 

"On  the  five  o'clock  train  to-morrow  afternoon." 

"And  what  do  you  intend  doing  there?" 

"I  shall  be  on  my  old  paper  again— on  the  editorial 
staff." 

"And— and  are  you  giving  up  the  academic  life  alto- 
gether?" 

"I  think  so.  I  cannot  return  to  Hallworth,  and  I 
have  no  heart  to  go  to  any  other  university. ' ' 

The  quiet  sadness  of  his  voice  stirred  her  more  deeply 
than  passionate  pleading  could  have  done. 

"Do  you  go  away  forgiving  me?"  she  said  in  low 
tones. 

570 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

He  suddenly  stopped  in  the  path. 

"Barbara,  is  there  no  hope?" 

She  could  not  answer.  Love  and  longing  tore  her. 
Her  soul  bled. 

' '  Is  there  no  hope  f ' '  he  repeated. 

"I  can't  hurt— him,"  she  said. 

"But  me?" 

She  was  silent. 

He  looked  at  her  gently,  almost  with  compassion. 

"If  you  were  older  you  would  see  things  in  a  differ- 
ent light,"  he  said.  "You  would  not  only  know  to 
whom  you  belonged,  but  you  would  act  upon  that  knowl- 
edge." 

' '  Don 't  turn  the  knife  ? ' '  she  said. 

\  *  Does  it  hurt  you  ? "  he  said  bitterly. 

"It  hurts  me." 

"I  should  like  to  know  your  theories  of  life— 
what  impossible  ideal  compels  you  to  this  sacrifice! 
I  tell  you  honestly  that  I  think  you  are  acting  as  a 
child  rather  than  a  woman.  What  is  your  theory, 
Barbara?" 

1 '  I  have  none, ' '  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"Your  ideal,  then?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Have  you  any  clear  grounds  for  your  course?"  he 
urged. 

"No.  I  have  nothing— nothing.  I  can't  hurt  him, 
that's  all  I  know." 

' '  But  would  it  hurt  him  ? ' ' 

"It  would  hurt  him." 

They  walked  along  in  silence. 

"There's  no  hope,  then?"  he  said  at  last. 
571 


THE    LAW    OF   LIFE 

' '  None, ' '  she  faltered. 
"Shall  we  turnback!" 

He  was  gone.  They  had  shaken  hands  at  her  door, 
as  two  strangers  might.  She  went  up-stairs,  facing 
emptiness. 

The  next  day  at  five  she  went  to  the  knoll.  From  it 
the  trains  could  be  seen  winding  out  of  the  valley. 

She  saw  the  train  which  bore  him  from  her  leave  the 
station,  make  its  way  across  the  valley,  slowly  climb  the 
steep  grade  by  which  it  obtained  exit  through  the  hills. 
After  a  while  she  could  only  trace  its  course  by  the  trail 
of  white  smoke.  At  last  even  this  faded  from  the  heavy 
air. 

Misery  assailed  her,  though  no  tears  came  to  her 
eyes,  no  word  of  woe  from  her  lips.  For  a  long  time  she 
sat  motionless.  Nothing  remained  but  to  cling  with 
blind  instinct  to  that  dim  law  which  upon  the  forest  road 
she  had  found  herself  powerless  to  define  to  him. 

Six  o'clock  struck.  The  chimes  began  to  ring.  She 
raised  her  head  from  her  hands,  looking  now  not  toward 
the  valley,  but  in  the  direction  where,  at  the  summit  of  a 
hill,  steep  and  difficult,  the  towers  of  Hallworth  rose 
against  the  sky. 

(i) 


572 


By  FRANK   R  STOCKTON. 


The  Captain's  Toll-Gate. 

A  Complete  Posthumous  Novel  by  Frank  R.  Stock- 
ton, Author  of  "Kate  Bonnet,"  "The  Lady  or  the 
Tiger,"  etc.  With  a  Memoir  by  Mrs.  Stockton,  an  Etched 
Portrait,  Views  of  Mr.  Stockton's  Home,  and  a  Bibli- 
ography.    i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

The  scene  is  partly  laid  in  Washington  but  mainly  in 
that  part  of  West  Virginia  where  the  author  spent  the 
last  three  years  of  his  life.  Incidents  centering  about 
the  "  Toil-Gate  "  and  a  fashionable  country  home  in  the 
neighborhood  are  related  with  the  author's  peculiar 
humor  and  charm  of  diction  which  have  endeared  him 
to  a  host  of  readers. 

The  heroine  who  is  an  embodiment  of  the  healthy 
vigorous  girl  of  to-day,  and  her  several  suitors,  together 
with  the  mistress  of  the  country  house  and  a  meddlesome 
unmarried  woman  of  the  village,  combine  to  present  a 
fascinating  and  varied  picture  of  social  life  to  the  present 
day. 

"  In  the  story  we  have  the  real  Stockton  at  his  best  and  brightest. 
The  fun,  the  whimsicality,  the  queer  doings,  the  very  delightful  people 
are  such  as  his  readers  have  been  entertained  with  for  so  many  years. 
The  fertility  of  invention  and  ingenuity  is  as  fresh  as  in  the  early 
stories,  and  perhaps  Mr.  Stockton  never  came  nearer  to  success  in 
trying  to  keep  a  long  story  together  to  the  end  without  digressions  or 
a  break  in  the  plot.  The  heroine  is  a  charming  girl,  her  married 
hostess  still  more  charming,  and  there  are  plenty  of  others  the  reader 
will  be  glad  to  meet. 

"  Mrs.  Stockton's  sketch  of  her  husband  gives  us  a  glimpse  of  a 
lovable  and  delightful  personality  and  shows  the  author  at  work  just 
as  the  readers  must  have  imagined  him.  Swinging  in  a  hammock 
under  the  fir  trees,  or  when  winter  came,  in  an  easy  chair  before  a  big 
log  fire,  he  dreamed  his  fancies  and  dictated  them,  bit  by  bit,  as  they 
came,  to  his  secretary." — New  York  Sun. 

D.     APPLETON     AND     COMPANY,     NEW     YORK. 


By  ELLEN  THORNEYCROFT  FOWLER. 


Each,  J2mo,  cloth,  $*.50. 
Place  and  Power.     With  8  full-page  Illustrations. 

The  story  of  an  ambitious  young  man  whose  most  cherished  aims  are 
frustrated  through  retributive  justice.  The  story  is  full  of  interest  and 
attractive  characterization,  the  main  action  of  the  plot  is  skilfully  hidden 
until  the  right  moment,  and  the  dialogue  is  entertaining  and  clever. 

Sirius.     A  Volume  of  Fiction. 

"  Ellen  Thorney croft  Fowler's  latest  production  has  richer  sources  of 
entertainment  than  any  one  book  she  has  yet  written,  inasmuch  as  it  has 
more  characters,  more  conversation,  and  more  epigrams." — Chicago  Tribune. 

Cupid's  Garden.     With  new  Portrait  of  the  Author. 

M  Whatever  this  author  sends  out  has  freshness  and  originality,  and  her 
sketches  of  people  are  so  deftly  drawn  that  one  wonders  at  the  versatility. 
'  Cupid's  Garden  '  is  a  collection  of  stories  of  love,  not  all  of  which  run 
smooth,  but  which  all  exhibit  some  noble  trait  of  the  tender  passion." — 
Indianapolis  News. 

The  Farringdons. 

"  'The  Farringdons"  is  a  serious  and  a  sound  piece  of  work,  and  there 
is  about  it  a  note  of  thoroughly  genuine  piety  which  is  very  far  from  being 
religiosity.  ...  It  is  bright,  it  is  interesting,  and  the  denouement  is  just 
what  we  all  would  wish  it  to  be." — London  Chronicle. 

Concerning   Isabel    Carnaby.     New  edition,  with   Por- 
trait and  Biographical    Sketch  of  the  Author. 

"  Rarely  does  one  find  such  a  charming  combination  of  wit  and  tender-  ' 
ness,  of  brilliancy,  and  reverence  for  the  things  that  matter.  ...  It  is 
bright  without  being  flippant,  tender  without  being  mawkish,  and  as  joyous 
and  as  wholesome  as  sunshine  The  characters  are  closely  studied  and 
clearly  limned,  and  they  are  created  by  one  who  knows  human  nature.  .  .'. 
It  would  be  hard  to  find  its  superior  for  all-around  excellence.  .  .  .  No  one 
who  reads  it  will  regret  it  or  forget  it." — Chicago  Tribune.  -A 

A  Double  Thread. 

"  Brilliant  and  witty.  Shows  fine  insight  into  character." — Minneapolis 
yournal. 

44  Crowded  with  interesting  people.  One  of  the  most  enjoyable  stories 
of  the  season." — Philadelphia  Inquirer. 


D.     APPLETON     AND      COMPANY,     NEW     YORK 


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